


All the (future) King's Men

by Lecavayay



Category: Hockey RPF
Genre: Alternate Universe - Not Hockey Player(s), Found Family, Gen, M/M, POV Multiple, Tampa Bay Lightning
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-01-01
Updated: 2018-01-01
Packaged: 2019-02-18 20:53:32
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 2
Words: 24,667
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/13108335
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Lecavayay/pseuds/Lecavayay
Summary: Brayden is elbow deep in a toilet bowl when his boss appears, trailed by three very important looking, very blonde men. Men in suits and tie pins and ear pieces. Shit.What the fuck has Jake done now?





	1. Part One

**Author's Note:**

  * For [verbaeghe](https://archiveofourown.org/users/verbaeghe/gifts).



> My dearest Mish, I hope you enjoy reading this as much as I enjoyed writing (and teasing you with) it. Here's to hoping this starts 2018 out on the right foot for you.

1

 

Slater’s favorite time of day is from 4:45 to 5:15 in the morning. In those precious minutes between the last of the drunken kids stumbling back out into the night and the first of the truck drivers and factory workers coming in for their hit of caffeine, Slater reads.

He knows he shouldn’t when he’s on the clock, but the cooks go out back to smoke and Connor usually sits in one of the red vinyl booths to scroll through his phone. So Slater grabs his backpack from under the counter and pulls out the paperback he’s been reading for a few weeks, picking up where he left off two nights ago – the main character just found out he’s the lost prince everyone’s been searching for.

It’s a tense part of the novel and Slater’s sucked back in immediately. He vaguely hears the cooks come in from the alley, one of them laughing loudly. The lost prince is angry. Cigarette smoke clings to the cooks’ shirts, filling up Slater’s nose. Someone puts on a fresh pot of coffee, the water hissing as it fills the empty carafe. The lost prince runs away.

Slater startles when someone – Connor – punches him in the shoulder. “What the fu—.”

“Your phone is ringing.”

 He fumbles his cell out of the pocket of his apron and frowns at the caller ID: _Pinellas County Detention Center_. Son of a bitch.

“Hello?”

He doesn’t listen to the operator’s introduction, hitting _1_ to accept the charges of the collect call, knowing exactly who is going to be on the other end of the line.

“Slater?” a familiar voice asks.

“Jacob.”

“Don’t _Jacob_ me, the guy deserved it, okay? Will you be able to come get me on your way home?”

Slater rolls his eyes to the heavens, silently begging for patience. “What if I say no?”

“You wouldn’t.”

He sighs only because he knows Jake’s right. “I will be there at six-thirty.”

“You’re the be--.”

Slater hangs up on him and goes back to his book. There’s still seven minutes until his break is over.

 

The sun is just beginning to rise when Slater parks in front of the detention center, the interiorlights still bright against the backdrop of the pale navy sky. The walk to the front desk is more familiar than it should be and he signs Jake out without any trouble.

“You look terrible.”

Jake groans as he collects his wallet and phone from the cop behind the desk. “You should see the other guy.”

"The other guy who didn't press charges, you lucky fucker."

There’s a purpling bruise blooming under Jake’s right eye and a deep cut across his eyebrow. He licks at his split lip as they head back to the car in silence.

Slater turns on the engine and rolls the windows down. “What’d you do this time?”

Jake sighs, rubbing the eye that isn’t currently doing its best to swell shut. “A guy I knew invited me to a game and then this big burly dude tried to start a fight with this other guy who had been winning for hours, trying to say he was counting cards.”

Slater comes to a full and complete stop at a red light. “So you hit him.”

“So I hit him.”

He lets that hang in the air between them until the light turns green and the early morning breeze sweeps it away. Turning up the radio, he heads for the bridge.

The water of the bay soaks up the colors of the sun as it rises, bright enough now that Slater doesn’t need his headlights. He catches Jake watching out the window as they drive, eyes fighting to stay open against the lull of the car. They’ve both had long nights.

Jake’s cell phone falls between his feet when he finally gives in to sleep about 20 minutes from home.

 

Slater parks in the driveway next to a familiar grey car and nudges Jake awake. The run-down house smells like eggs when they walk in and Slater’s stomach gives a loud grumble. They find Tyler passed out on the ugly plaid couch which means tha—

“Breakfast is served!” Brayden announces, scooping the last of the scrambled eggs onto a plate with borderline-burnt toast. “Oh geez, you look terrible.”

Jake dives away from Brayden’s concerned hands. “I’m fine.”

He grabs the hot sauce out of the fridge and a bag of peas from the freezer before settling on the floor by the coffee table. Slater shakes Tyler awake, laying a plate on his belly.

Brayden puts the morning news on and the four of them watch quietly as a story about a charity fundraiser plays – the Point family is throwing another lavish royal ball.

“You think they ever get tired of that shit?” Jake asks, pressing the bag of peas to his face. “Getting all fancy just to stand around and take people’s money?”

“I’d like to see them have to work a week in our shoes,” Tyler grumbles.

Brayden hums, mouth full.

Slater makes to join in the royal-bashing when the anchor changes topic to an illegal gambling hall bust and a beautiful mug shot of Jake pops up on screen. “Oh my god!”

Jake laments. “That’s my cue to go to bed.”

“No, come on, you’re famous now!” Tyler snarks. “Give us a speech!”

They get a middle finger instead as he heads for his room, peas still pressed to his face.

Slater grabs his last bite of toast and follows. “You need me to stich that cut up first,” he says, maneuvering them both into the tiny hall bathroom.

“It’s not even bleeding anymore.”

“Yeah, but it’s going to get infected all open like that. Just sit down.” He indicates the closed lid of the toilet and takes the peas away.

Jake does as he’s told and Slater gets the first aid kit out from under the sink. “Did you lose all your rent money tonight?” he asks, brushing an alcohol pad over Jake’s cut.

He flinches at the sting. “I’ll pick up extra shifts this week.”

“Jake,” Slater chides. “You can’t keep doing this.”

“Don’t mother hen me,” he replies without much bite.

Slater sighs and tilts Jake’s head back until the sickly florescent light hits the cut just _so_. “You know we’re all worried about you,” he says, getting to work. “Not just me.”

“I’m fine,” he grits out.

“Sure, but you got into a fight at an underground casino tonight and ended up in jail so excuse me for not totally believing you.” The cut is short and Slater is quick, tying off the stiches easily.

“Hurry up in there! I’ve gotta shower before work!” Brayden shouts from the hall.

“That should hold,” Slater announces, slapping Jake’s fingers away. “Don’t touch it.”

Jake rolls his eyes and moves Slater out of the way so he can open the bathroom door and flee. It’s not until Jake’s securely in his bedroom that Brayden corners Slater.

“He’s okay, right?”

“I guess.” Slater puts the first aid kit back where he found it. “Might be late with rent this month, though.”

“Son of a bi--.”

Slater escapes to his own room before Brayden can shout any more obscenities. He steps around his mattress on the floor to tug the blackout curtains closed, stripping out of his greasy diner uniform and plugging in his phone. He opens the text notification that pops up and smiles at the little heart at the end of it.

_Goodnight to you too, babe._

 

2

 

Brayden pulls on a regulation red Office Max polo after his shower, toweling his wet hair as he heads to the kitchen to pack a lunch. Tyler’s fallen back to sleep on the couch, empty breakfast plate still balanced on his stomach.

Using the ends of the loaf of bread, he makes a pb&j and a mental note to go to the store on his way home. They’re out of like, everything. He takes a couple dollars out of the Asshole Jar for the vending machine at work on his way out the door.

He curses the late September humidity, rolling down the windows of his car immediately to try and circulate some air. He really needs to save up to get his AC fixed. To add insult to injury, his gas light comes on before he even reaches the end of the road, but he’s confident he can make it to work and back on what’s left.

Probably.

Today sucks.

 

Brayden arrives three minutes late and significantly sweaty. He finds his manager, Nick, in the chair section with his feet up on one of the desks they have on display, a fan oscillating close by.

“Sorry I’m late, Leds.”

“No worries,” he says, sitting up with a smile. “We’ve got a shipment coming in at ten but otherwise, do whatever it is you do to make this place look so nice, eh?”

Brayden wouldn’t say he _likes_ his job, but most of the time he feels pretty lucky to have a supervisor so chill. “Yeah, sure.”

The pen aisle is calling his name and he takes his time organizing the displays until he gets a text from Jake asking if the burgers in the fridge are up for grabs.

_Tyler brought them home last night. You get ONE (1)._

The shipment at ten is mostly of tape and boxes of chairs. He spends a long while stocking the tape with it in perfect color order. He gets a notification from Tinder and checks out the girl’s profile before swiping right, eats his sandwich, scrolls through twitter while manning the registers, and tests out the array of stress balls they sell. Nothing out of the ordinary.

“You want bathroom duty or nah?” Nick asks an hour before his mind-numbing day is complete.

“Do I really have a choice?”

“I like to think so.”

“There’s not a disaster in there, right?” he asks.

“Am I that type of person?” Nick scoffs.

Brayden levels him with a stare before caving. “Yeah, I’ll do it.”

So naturally, he’s elbow deep in a toilet bowl when Nick appears again, trailed by three very important looking, very blonde men. Men in suits and tie pins and ear pieces. Shit.

“Brayden Hudson?” the blondest of the trio asks, softening his inquiry with a smile.  

“Uh, yes? Can I…help you?” He takes his hands out of the toilet for politeness’ sake.

“We have a summons for you,” the older guy, his blonde hair already balding, says. “You’re requested at the High Court.”

“What?”

The third man steps forward, young and fit. His nose has definitely been broken a few times. “We’ll brief you on the way, Mr. Hudson.”

Something is Brayden’s gut curdles. What the _fuck_ has Jake done now.

 

3

 

_Wht the fuck did u do_

Jake reads the text as he’s getting Powerball tickets from the gas station down the street and honestly, he has no idea. Two more texts ping in – one from Tyler and the other from Slater – asking the same thing and seriously, why does everyone assume it’s him? They all do shitty things. He’s not the only one who has been to jail, thanks.

He sends a text back to Bray and heads to the house to tell the other two to their faces that he did nothing to deserv—

Uh.

He stops at the end of their driveway when he spots the guy in the suit at their front door, hands crossed in front of his body, definitely guarding. There’s another in front of the unruly shrubs under the kitchen window and one more along the side of the house where his and Bray’s rooms are.

Shit, maybe he really did do something.

He stalks up the walk until he’s eye-level with the guard. “Excuse me,” he says, more bravado than he’s really feeling in the face of the guy’s very obvious weapons.

“I’ll need to see identification before I can let you pass,” the guy says, stiff and rehearsed.

“I’ll show you mine if you show me yours.”

The guard doesn't smile but he does reach into his coat and pull out a leather wallet with a very official-looking royal seal identification card in it. Jake swallows and does the same, his driver's license feeling a bit pathetic.

“Thank you, Mr. Dotchin.”

He relaxes, feeling like he’s passed some sort of test, only to be patted down, have his pockets searched, and his cell phone taken before he can so much as look at the front door knob. “You gonna give me a colonoscopy too or what?”

The guard steps just far enough to the right for Jake to get inside. Tyler and Slater are sitting together on the couch looking nervous.

“Where’s Bray?”

“At the High Court no thanks to you,” Slater snaps.

“No thanks to _me_? I didn’t do anything!” He kicks his shoes off and gets up in Slater’s face, just as quick to anger. “And fuck you all for always assuming it’s me!”

“If the boot fits!”

“You really think I’d do something stupid enough to get the High Court involved?” he yells, shoving Slater’s shoulders. “You’re unbelievable.”

Tyler squeezes his way between them, one hand on each of their chests. “Why don’t you both shut the hell up for a second.”

Jake clenches his jaw.

“None of us did anything,” Tyler continues. “You think Tweedledee and Tweedledum out there would have let us in if we had?”

Slater rolls the anger out of his shoulders, stepping down.

“Right, so let’s just fucking…sit and wait and not jump to too many conclusions,” Tyler finishes, indicating the ugly plaid couch that’s just long enough for the three of them.

Jake’s never been good at waiting.

 

One hour passes.

Then two.

Slater is getting restless, knees bouncing, and Tyler’s been pacing in the kitchen for a while. Jake’s palms are sweaty.

Hour three comes and goes, bringing the start of darkness. None of the guards have moved. Jake bites all his nails down as the streetlamps come on one by one. He can’t help but cycle through the crimes he’s committed, the ones he’s gotten away with that might be coming back to haunt him.

He thinks about the things he did before he went to...when he was…no. No.

“You okay?” Slater asks, soft and calm.

Jake shakes his head, dislodging the memories. “’m fine.”

It passes four hours and honestly Jake’s really fucking hungry but he knows there’s nothing but Bray’s burger left in the fridge so he sits in silent suffering.

It’s pushing nine o’clock when headlights flash in the front window and all three of them rush to look. It’s one of those sleek black cars with the city’s flags fixed to the roof. The driver gets out to open the back door and Bray steps out, still wearing his Office Max polo.

They stay huddled near the door, watching silently as Bray comes in.

He stops and looks at them, opens and closes his mouth. Jake wants to break the silence, ask the question they're all thinking but Bray walks down the hall and into his room, shutting the door firmly behind him.

 

4

 

Slater and Jake rush for Brayden’s room, frantically knocking and banging and yelling to try and draw him out. Tyler shoves his way between them and lowers his voice, hopes someone calm might get him to open the door instead.

“Bray,” he tries. “You know you can tell us what happened. Whatever it is, we’re here. We can help.”

Silence.

He shoos the other two away and tries again with a few softer knocks. “It’s just me, Bray. C’mon. We’re worried. _I’m_ worried.”

There’s some rustling from the room and then a loud blast of music – the nicest possible way for Brayden to say ‘fuck off’.

Okay.

“Anything?” Jake asks, arms crossed over his chest.

“No. We’ll have to wait him out. Wh--.” He catches sight of Slater on the front stoop with the guard, clearly arguing. “What is he _doing_? Why does no one in this house respect authority?!”

“Uh, pot meet kettle.”

“Shut up.” Tyler stalks to the front window and taps on the glass, grabbing their attention. “What the fuck, Slater!”

Slater holds up a finger, finishing his argument and then, miraculously, getting exactly what he wanted, it seems.

“Don’t knock my methods,” he says, coming back in with a handful of their cell phones. “And don’t post anything stupid or text anyone you don’t have to, okay?”

Tyler agrees and snatches his phone, scrolling through the notifications that built up over the day. “Damn it, I’ve gotta go to work.”

Vladdy texted him a couple hours ago to cover his shift at the bar tonight and at this rate, he’ll easily be a half hour late.

“Can’t you call in?” Jake asks. “We kind of have a situation here.”

“Maybe if you didn’t gamble away your rent money,” he says, going through the clean pile of laundry on the dryer. “I could turn down a shift every now and then.” And he doesn’t mean for it to come out so harsh but honestly, he has the job that makes the easiest money and has had to cover for Jake more times than he can count.

It’s exhausting.

“You gotta keep an eye on him, okay?” Tyler says, trading out the shirt he’s wearing for a grey tank that shows more skin than it covers. “And text me if anything else happens.”

 

The place is full when Tyler gets there, clusters of people waiting for drinks at the far wall. His manager Vic looks a little wild around the eyes filling in behind the bar with Alex.

“You’re late,” he shouts over the music.

“I’ll make it up to you,” Tyler says with a smile. He grabs their cheapest bottle of vodka and one of peach schnapps before hopping up onto the bar. “So who needs a drink!”

The crowd opens their mouths like little baby birds, dollar bills raised in their fists. Tyler lets them tuck the bills into his belt and tight jean pockets, leans down to take a few out from between a pretty guy’s teeth and a pretty girl’s cleavage. He shimmies his hips and flashes some stomach and pours shots until the bottles are empty.

“That’s one way to clear a crowd,” Alex says once Tyler’s jumped off the bar.

“I just like to make an entrance.”

“Isn’t that the truth. There’s a suit-and-tie over there. I saved him for you.” He tilts his head in the direction of the very pale blond who’s settled at the corner of the bar, silk tie snug around his neck. “Go work your magic.”

Tyler grabs a pair of scissors before greeting the guy. “You know we have a dress code here, right?” he asks, smirking.

The guy’s brows furrow as he scans the room, clearly noting the lack of any kind of formal dress requirement. “A dress code?”

“Yeah. No suits. No loafers. And absolutely no ties.” He snips the scissors in threat.

“Oh, uh, should I just…” He loosens the knot earnestly, slipping the silk from his neck.

“I’ll have to confiscate the jacket as well.”

“This is Armani,” the man deadpans.

“That’s fine,” Tyler replies, leaning on the bar. “But what are you doing bringing Armani to the Den?”

The man’s lips thin, which is a feat. Tyler’s worried the top one is just going to disappear altogether.

“It’ll do you good,” he pushes. “You look like you could do to loosen up. I’ll keep it in the back, okay? You can find me when you leave.”

The man narrows his gaze before stuffing his tie in the pocket of his Armani jacket and handing it over. “Anything else I have to take off?” he snarks.

“I mean, if you’re offering,” Tyler says, very obviously eyeing the guy’s body. It's a good body.

He stands and untucks his dress shirt from his neatly pressed pants and Tyler gets a flash of skin around his hip before he settles back on the barstool. “You’ll need to buy me a drink first.”

“That can be arranged.” He fills a cup with ice and indicates the wall of their fancier liquors behind him. “Take your pick.”

The guy scan the bottles, wrinkling his nose when he presumably doesn’t find whatever fancy shit he usually drinks. “Can you make an Old Fashioned? Or is that too high-brow for the Den?”

Tyler would normally refuse but the gleam in the guy’s eye makes him want to prove himself. He grabs the Maker’s Mark from the shelf and gets to work, topping his finished concoction with an orange slice and a cherry.

“On the house,” he says, tossing a bar napkin down before presenting the drink.

He watches the man take the first sip, hungry for his approval.

“Not bad.”

Tyler beams and goes to put the guy’s coat in the back.

 

The bar clears out in one great big heaving sigh around 3:30 and Tyler starts wiping down the bar while Alex closes down one of the registers. There are a few stragglers still drunkenly grinding against each other along the wall and a few more still trying to close a deal with the lingering girls in short dresses and smeared lipstick. He watches the blond stranger still sitting at the corner of the bar as he rinses glasses and sets them up to dry.

His drink has been empty for well over an hour, Alex stopping by to ask if he needed a refill a few times. Tyler knows he hasn’t cashed out yet, knows his Armani jacket is still laying over a keg in the back.

Eventually Tyler can’t stall any longer, sweeping away the dirty napkins and a used slice of lime sitting on the bar next to him. “Closing time,” he offers.

The man smiles and pushes his empty glass into Tyler’s hands. “I suppose that means I’m ready for my jacket back.” He doesn’t slur his words but they’re softer around the edges now.

“I’ll be right back with that.”

“And my tab, if you don’t mind.”

Tyler retrieves the jacket and a couple bottles of sweet and sour to restock the bar. “Which tab is his,” he asks Alex.

Alex pulls it up and prints the receipt easily, matching his card to it.

Tyler checks the name and his stomach drops. That would explain the Armani. “Here we are Mr. Palat.”

The man, Ondrej, takes his tab, slipping his card back into his wallet. “Mr. Palat is my father. I’m just Ondrej.”

Tyler knows the name, everyone does. You can’t go to an art center or museum or the new auditorium downtown without seeing the name hung up in it for their _generous donation to the arts_. Not that Tyler really spends much time in art centers but, he _knows_ is the point. “I’m sorry for giving you such a hassle earlier.”

Ondrej slips back into his jacket, flattening his collar around it easily. “I came here looking for an experience, to get a feel for how--”

“Normal people drink?” Tyler hates himself immediately.

“I think I quite enjoyed it.” Ondrej smiles. “The bartenders here are much better to look at compared to the stuffy old places I normally visit.”

Tyler flushes.

“I’ll be sure to adhere to the dress code when I return.” He signs the receipt, a big, flowery signature, well-practiced. “Have a good night.”

Tyler can’t help but watch as he leaves, transfixed by the way he adjusts his shirt cuffs before pushing out into the night. The last call lights snap him from his daze.

“Last call everybody, time to get the hell out!” Alex shouts.

Efficient as always.

 

5

 

Slater’s wiping down a pair of tables when Tyler comes in fresh off his shift at the bar. He beelines for the empty booth along the windows, settling down with a sigh. Slater pours him a cup of decaf coffee and grabs an extra bowl of little creamers off another table.

“Thanks,” Tyler says, digging out all the French vanilla flavored creams from the two bowls at his disposal. “How’s Brayden?”

“Still in his room as of midnight. I haven’t heard from Jake so I’m guessing he’s still there.”

A bell rings, order up. “I’ll be right back.”

He delivers the stacks of pancakes and sides of bacon to the table of drunk dudes all wearing snapbacks, topping off their drinks as well. He checks in with an older guy nursing his second cup of coffee before sitting down across from Tyler.

“You don’t think it’s the mob, do you?” Tyler whispers.

Slater rolls his eyes. “We don’t have a mob.”

They totally have a mob and Slater knows this because Jake, the dumbass, has gotten himself into trouble with said mob. More than once. “You want pie?” he asks.

Tyler nods, sipping down his cream-filled coffee.

Slater brings him a slice of cherry with a big pile of whipped cream on top. “Your sweet tooth is astounding.”

Tyler digs in with a smile. “Hey, guess who showed up to the bar tonight?”

“That guy you banged last weekend?”

“Um, no. But thanks for reminding me he never called me back.” He chews another bite of pie. “Ondrej Palat.”

Slater’s eyebrows shoot toward his hairline.

“He was gorgeous.”

“Please do not hit on the millionaire philanthropist.”

“Millionaire philanthropist’s son,” Tyler corrects.

“My statement still stands.”

“You never let me have any fun.”

“I give you free pie,” Slater says. “That’s as far as I go. Should I stay at the house tonight?”

“Nah,” Tyler says. “I’ll work on Bray. He’ll be okay. Go see Other-Bray.”

It’s been over a week since they’ve had off-days that overlap and Slater’s been counting down the hours until his shift is over and he can head to the suburbs. “Will you tex--.”

“Yes, I will text you if I find anything out,” he finishes, picking up the crumbs of his pie with the back of his fork. “Maybe a piece of pie could lure him out?”

“I heard that only works if someone pays for it.”

“Fine. Box it up.”

 

Just after 6:15 – after Lexi had rushed in looking tired and apologetic, after Slater had looked at the newest set of baby pictures and cooed in the appropriate places – he heads away from downtown and the high-rise buildings.

He breathes easier as more of the city skyline falls away and different shades of green take its place. He rolls down the windows to smell the sulfur of the front lawn sprinklers going off. The apartment buildings get shorter and shorter the longer he drives, single-family houses and little townhomes leaving room for the sky to turn bright blue.

He parks on the street and grabs his overnight bag out of the trunk. Neatly trimmed shrubs and purple flowers line the walk up to the apartment building and Slater sometimes just wants to dig his fingers into the dirt they’re planted in, get it under his nails.

The city is good, it’s fine. But he misses the farm he grew up on.

He uses the key marked with a red ring (“because hearts are red” Braydon had insisted) and lets himself into the neat apartment. It’s calm and still and Slater does his best to be quiet on his way to the bedroom where Braydon’s already curled up under the covers, snoring softly.

He presses up behind him, closes his eyes, and in the moment before he falls asleep, everything else in the world melts away with the chirps of the morning birds.

 

6

 

Jake startles awake at the sound of a door opening. He’s on the floor in the hall and Bray’s poked his head out of his bedroom for the first time in ten hours. There’s a slice of pie on the floor between them.

“Can you be serious for a minute?” Bray asks.

“For sure.”

“Okay great, get in here.”

Jake steps over the pie and into Bray’s room.

“Sit down,” he commands, looking more than terrified.

“Dude, whatever it is, we can fix it. I know people. All you gotta do is as--.”

“I don’t need a hitman!” he says, pacing around what little empty floor space there is in his room. “I’m…I’m royal.”

The words make sense as far as words go, but together, and out of Brayden’s mouth, Jake struggles with them. “Say that again?”

“My mom, my birth mom, is the next in line for the city throne.”

Jake has absolutely no idea what to say to that so he stalls by going back out into the hall, picking up the piece of pie, and offering it to Bray. “So that makes you a…?”

“Prince.” Brayden gladly shovels pie into his mouth.

“And they want you to, what, join the family?”

Brayden shrugs, looking a little wild around the eyes.

Jake is totally not the person Bray should have come out to. “We probably need to have a meeting about this. I’m really not equipped to give you solo advice. Or really, advice of any kind.”

Brayden looks like he’s going to whine about it, but he gives in with a slump of his shoulders instead, settling on his bed to finish off the pie.

 

7

 

It’s a full five days later before the four of them can all be in the same place at the same time for more than a few passing minutes.

Brayden watches the clock on the microwave while they wait on Slater to get back from his class and the more time that passes, the less Brayden actually wants to say anything at all. Surely they’re all better off not knowing. Maybe he can just sneak out in the middle of the night and disappear. He can leave a heartfelt note and escape into the mountains or back to Moose Jaw. It wouldn’t have to be a whole ordeal.

But then Slater barrels through the door with his backpack half open and a Red Bull and Brayden’s pretty sure he’s stuck here now.

“Sorry I’m late,” Slater says, sweeping through the kitchen for a bottle of water before slumping next to Jake on the couch. “What’s up?”

Brayden bites at the skin of his bottom lip, the anxiety simmering through him almost making him feel lightheaded. He inhales and looks to Jake, who nods his head.

So Brayden stands and paces a little in front of the dark screen of the television to try and find his nerve. “I, uh, I’ve got some explaining to do.”

Tyler sits up in the chair, hands clenched between his knees. “Okay.”

“About the High Court and all…this.” He indicates the three guards that have been stationed at their house for the past week. “My birth family found me, I think, and they’re…royal.”

“What?” Slater asks, eyes wide.

“The royal family, the Points. They’re my parents. Well, Princess Janice at least, biologically.”

The room falls silent when Brayden stops talking and the little nugget of dread in his stomach burrows deeper. Panic rises up the back of his throat. “I mean, it’s crazy r-right?” he stutters. “That I’m a prince and all that.”

It feels weird to say it out loud. He spent yesterday in buildings he’s way too ugly and poor to be in, talking to people who were way too smart and put-together to ever willingly associate with the likes of him. He was an imposter walking on polished marble in ratty, five-year old tennis shoes.

And now he’s panicking.

“Hey whoa,” Tyler says, jumping up to wrap firm arms around him. “Don’t do that. Breathe.”

He leans into Tyler’s steady frame and lets out a shaky breath. “I’m not a prince.”

Tyler huffs an easy laugh. “No, you’re not. But that doesn’t mean you can’t become one.”

“You’ve totally got the hair for it though,” Jake adds.

He’s got the hair and literally nothing else. He’s so fucking shy and awkward and the thought of being the center of attention makes his knees weak.

“Do you not want to do it?” Tyler asks.

Brayden pulls back to stand on his own. “I…have no idea.”

“Is there a deadline you have to decide by?” Slater questions. “You do get to decide, right?”

Brayden bites at a fingernail. “Kind of? If I do like, accept, or whatever, they want to have a ball for me. One of the guys who picked me up said they love a good holiday coronation.”

“They’re pretty excited to have found you, huh?” Jake says.

Brayden shrugs and steps around Tyler to flop into the armchair. “I guess so.”

“Cause if they’re weird or something,” Jake continues. “I’ll kick all these asshole guards off our property and you’ll never have to see any of them again.”

That makes Brayden smile a little. “I’m pretty sure they’d beat the shit out of you, but thanks. We should, um, probably get used to them being here for the long haul, though. Or at least until I make my decision.”

“I’m sure the neighbors are gonna love that,” Slater says, digging his anatomy textbook out of his backpack and dropping it on the table with a loud _thunk_. “Do you need to learn how to be princely? Cause we could help you study or whatever.”

“We’ll make Jake channel his inner upstanding citizen,” Tyler says and gets a punch in the shoulder.

“Uh, well, yeah I do need to learn. But there’s a royal advisor for all that. His name’s Valtteri.”

Tyler laughs, heading for the kitchen. “He sounds ancient.”

“Hey, don’t make fun of my royal advisor!”

What Brayden doesn’t say as Tyler gets out a pan and a fresh loaf of bread, is that Valtteri might be the most beautiful and poised of all the royal people he met during his adventure at the High Court. Which should make learning shit like how to bow properly complete torture.

“How many grilled cheese am I making?” Tyler asks.

“Just do the whole loaf, I’m starving,” Jake replies, turning on Wheel of Fortune and sticking his feet in Slater’s lap.

Slater promptly shoves them away and settles on the floor with his textbook.

Brayden breathes, watches the three of them, and realizes the time he’s spent holed up in his room freaking out was a total waste of time. Nothing’s changed at all.  

 

8

 

Slater wakes up on the couch with his cheek pressed to the pages of his anatomy book and a set of unfinished circulatory system notecards strewn all over the table. Damn it.  

The creak of a door startles him when it opens, a bleary-eyed Brayden stepping out in the living room with a yawn. “What are you still doing here?”

He clearly didn’t set an alarm before passing out early this morning. “ _Shit_.”

In a flurry of panic, Slater gathers his things and brushes his teeth, blowing past Brayden – still standing in the middle of the room – and out the door in record time.

He definitely speeds the entire way, silently begging not to come across anyone clocking radar while also freaking out every time he passes a white car that’s vaguely shaped like a Crown Victoria. He pulls into the parking lot of HCC just shy of five minutes late. Naturally, there’s no fucking parking near the building and he’s forced to sprint across the lot to make it to a seat in the back row of his algebra class before it’s not even worth it anymore.

He digs for a pencil at the bottom of his backpack and settles in to take notes. Algebra. Solving equations. This is fine. This makes sense…

 

Slater jerks awake at the sound of scraping chairs and the bustle of people climbing the lecture hall stairs to leave. His notebook is blank, pencil still gripped in his hand. Worthless.

He sighs and joins the crowd spilling into the hallway, following them out to the parking lot. He sends a text off to Braydon with shaky fingers, the overwhelming wave of how much work he has to do now crashing over him as he gets to his car.

He sits with the engine off, breathing, twisting his fingers around the steering wheel. He always gets like this when he starts to struggle, when it all seems like way too much. Doubt. Anxiety. He’s a good student, he _is_ , but life is just…there’s so much happening and he’s exhausted and maybe getting an associates degree was a bad decisi—

His phone chimes with a text from Braydon and one of the knots in Slater’s stomach unfurls at the words. He turns the car on and drives.

 

“C’mere,” Braydon says, ushering Slater inside and wrapping his arms around him. “What happened, what’s wrong?”

“Everything,” Slater mumbles into Braydon’s chest.

“Okay.”

They stand there in the entryway, Braydon’s fingers dragging up and down Slater’s spine, until Slater loosens his grip on Braydon’s middle and moves for the couch. He drops his backpack and flops dramatically on the cushions.

“How did you make it through nursing school?” he asks.

Braydon laughs softly, lifting Slater’s feet and putting them in his lap when he sits. “It wasn’t easy.”

“I don’t think I can do this.”

“Slater,” he says, squeezing Slater’s ankles. “You are absolutely capable of doing this. I have zero doubt about that. You’re so much smarter than I am.”

“I should’ve just gotten my EMT certificate and called it a day.”

“Hey,” Braydon says. “There’s still time to do that. Finish your classes this semester and then get your certification next year. Maybe in a few years you can come back to the degree, if that’s what you want.”

Slater sighs. Braydon’s being way too logical.

“What’s giving you trouble?”

He flaps his hand toward his backpack. “Anatomy. I’ve got an exam next week. And I fell asleep in algebra today.”

“Okay,” Braydon says. “The good news is that I can help you with anatomy. The _other_ good news is that I may or may not have a pint of the ice cream you like in the freezer.”

“Uhg.” Slater nudges Braydon’s thigh with a foot. “Stop being amazing.”

“Have you eaten today? I’ve got some fried chicken in the fridge with your name on it, too.”

Slater groans. “Yes, please. Fatten me up with your cooking.”

“So it’s also a yes to the mashed potatoes, then?”

“Absolutely.” Slater’s stomach growls as Braydon heads for the kitchen. “I will eat everything in your fridge if you let me.”

While Braydon plates up lunch, Slater turns on the TV and lets SportsCenter fill up the silence. He’s worrying too much. He knows he’s worrying too much and that worrying doesn’t help but the week he’s had – the week they’ve all had – would make even the most confident man stressed.

Brayden’s a prince. An actual, real life prince.

“Hey!” he shouts, sitting up so he can see into the kitchen. “Can you keep a secret?”

“Did Jake do something illegal again?” Braydon asks, bringing a plate piled high with chicken and potatoes to the couch.

“Uh, I mean, I had to bail him out recently but that’s not what I’m talking about. It’s something way weirder and more secretive.”

Braydon looks worried and Slater knows he needs to just spit it out.

“Uh, so. Bray’s royal.”

Braydon blinks. “Like, the royal family, royal? Of this city? I thought he was adopted.”

“He was, but apparently his birth mom is the next in line for the Tampa throne.”

“That’s…wow, that’s a lot.”

“We’ve got three royal guards outside the house twenty four-seven. He’s gonna have to go through training and they want to throw a coming out ball. It’s wild.”

“I don’t want to sound like I’m doubting you but, did they confirm it? With a blood test or something?”

Slater nods with a mouthful of potatoes. “It’s the real deal.”

“Wow.”

“It’s kind of freaked everyone out,” he says, ripping off a bite of chicken. “We’re trying to be supportive for him but, I’m just worried. He’s the youngest and the least hardened by the world or whatever and, I dunno. Tyler’s convinced it’s some kind of publicity stunt. Jake’s ready to burn the whole royal manor to the ground. It’s really tense in the house right now.”

Braydon pushes his fingers up into Slater’s hair. “You know you can stay here whenever you need to. For as long as you need to.”

“I know,” he says, leaning into Braydon’s touch. “Thank you.”

The kiss Braydon presses to Slater’s temple is ruined by the shrill beep of his on-call pager. “Damn it.”

“Noooo. Don’t go save lives, stay here with me,” Slater whines, pitifully reaching out for Braydon as he checks his pager.

“Duty calls,” he replies. “But seriously, stay here and do your homework or take a nap. Relax, okay?”

“Yeah, I’ll…I’ll do something.” He won’t lie, sprawling out in Braydon’s bed with all of its pillows sounds fantastic and absolutely the responsible, relaxing thing to do. But he knows Tyler’s working tonight and nursing a pitcher of beer at the bar has a certain draw to it as well. “Might be gone when you get home.”

“Okay.” Braydon kisses him, soft and sweet and brushing his thumb across his cheek, before slipping into a set of scrubs and out the door.

 

9

 

“You need to get more clothes,” Tyler quips when he spots Slater settling at the bar in the familiar snapback and Luke Combs t-shirt combo.

“I didn’t come here for fashion advice.”

“You know I give that freely wherever I am.” He tosses a napkin down in front of Slater and smiles. “Pitcher or pint kind of night?”

“Pitcher.”

He leaves the tap pouring while he makes two healthy jagerbombs. “I’m buying,” he says, sliding one Slater’s way and keeping the other for himself. “To get you started.”

Slater downs the shot in quick gulps.

“You wanna talk about it?” Tyler tries, knowing the offer could go either way.

“Nah.” He shakes his head, rearranging his hat over his curls. “Thanks though.”

Tyler sets the full pitcher on the bar in front of him with a frosty glass. “Yell if you need something.”

 

Slater does not yell but he does do another shot with Vladdy, who’s working tonight, and nurse his pitcher until it’s surely lukewarm.

The bar stays relatively clear through the early part of the night, most people coming in and filling up tables or leaning against a wall to scroll through their phones. Tyler goes to the back to grab a few bottles of vodka during a lull and returns to a surprise sitting two seats down from Slater.

This time, Ondrej is wearing a thin white t-shirt under an expensive-looking leather jacket, designer sunglasses pushed up into his hair. Tyler wishes he had an excuse to get him to undress but the deep v of his shirt will have to do.

“You’re a man of your word, it seems,” he says with a smile.

Ondrej lights up. “I wasn’t sure if you would be here, but it seems my gamble has paid off.”

Something hot and bright swoops through Tyler’s stomach. “Your lucky night. What fancy drink can I get you?”

“Well since you asked, let’s see what you can do with a boulevardier.”

Tyler’s brain short circuits at the way the drink’s name curls around Ondrej’s accent. “Uh, yeah. Sure. Lemme just whip that up.”

He tries to be stealthy when he googles the drink and then again when he searches for cheaper alternatives to the ingredients he finds. He notices another guy settle at the bar and grabs Vladdy’s attention. “Hey can you…”

Vladdy does and Tyler crouches down to look for a bottle of bitter liquor amongst the other dusty bottles of schnapps they never use. Hoping that the one he finds is still good, he mixes the drink and grabs a taste of it with a straw.

Fuck that’s horrible.

He throws an orange slice in it and presents it to Ondrej with a little flourish. “A boo-vard-ay. Just a heads up, that does not taste good at all.”

Ondrej smirks and brings the glass to his lips, taking the barest amount of the drink into his mouth. “It’s fine.”

“ _Really_?”

“It’s good for sipping.”

Tyler rolls his eyes. “If you’re being polite and don’t actually like it, I’m gonna be mad.”

“I told you it’s fine. Leave me alone to drink it,” he says, tossing a credit card on the bar. “And start a tab, please.”

Tyler puts his card with the rest of the open tabs before checking in on Slater, who has nearly finished his last glass of beer. “You want anything else?”

“A break.”

“Yeah, same.” He tosses the empty pitcher in the sink. “But all I have is liquor, so.”

Slater’s shoulders slump and he takes his hat off to run his fingers through his hair. The stress has escalated, it seems. “I’m just…gonna take the bus home.” He sets his car keys and ten bucks on the bar.

“You want my pass? I’ll bring the car home.”

Slater nods and pockets the offered bus pass before standing and giving a wave to Vladdy, busy mixing a long row of shots. “I’ll see you tomorrow.”

“Get some sleep,” Tyler says. He turns and breaks Slater’s money, putting the change in the tip jar and getting back to work. “You wanna do shots?” he asks Vladdy. “It’s kinda dead tonight, might perk everybody up.”

“Yeah, I’ve got it.” He hops up on the bar with ease. “Shot time!”

The crowd gathers and Vladdy pours shots of cheap rum into waiting mouths. Tyler watches Ondrej through the whole show, the way he looks on with wide eyes and makes room for Vladdy when he moves to the other side of the bar.

He catches Ondrej’s gaze and nods up to where Vladdy’s holding court. “I dare you,” he mouths.

Ondrej raises an eyebrow, holding Tyler’s attention as he pulls his wallet out. Vladdy’s almost out of liquor but Ondrej gets seen easily with the twenty he’s holding up.

“Oh we’ve got a big spender over here,” Vladdy says, grabbing the cash and stuffing it in his pocket. “Open up!”

Tyler hates himself the moment the rum hits Ondrej’s mouth, spilling along his lips and down his chin. Vladdy’s a messy pour and some of the liquor is definitely dripping down Ondrej’s neck. Tyler’s totally on board with cleaning him up with his tongue.

Ondrej sits back on his barstool and wipes his mouth with the back of his hand. “That was…”

“An experience?” Tyler finishes. “You didn’t have to pay twenty dollars for it, though.”

“It was the smallest bill I had.”

Millionaire’s son. Right. “Are you still sipping on this or can I dump it?” he asks, reaching for the bitter mess of a drink he made him earlier.

Ondrej hesitates and that’s all the answer Tyler needs. He dumps it and sets out a clean glass. “Maybe go a little less highbrow this time.”

“Bourbon neat, then.”  

That he can do, making a show of the pour.

“Can I ask you something,” Ondrej says. “Are there any restaurants open close by? Or ones that stay open after the bar closes?”

Tyler sets the bottle of bourbon back on the shelf. “There’s not really much around here but there’s definitely some amazing late night food options closer to downtown.”

Ondrej swirls his drink, the dark amber liquor clinging to the sides of the glass. “Would you like to eat with me? After you’re finished here, I mean.”

Tyler’s ears must be playing tricks on him. “What?”

“Can I take you to dinner tonight,” he reiterates. “Or breakfast. I’m not sure where the line is between the two. I don’t make a habit of being up this late.”

“I would, uh…yes. Yeah.” Tyler palms the back of his neck, shy. His face flushes hot. “I would like that.”

Ondrej takes a sip of his drink and even in the dim lights of the bar, Tyler can see the very tips of his ears burning red.

 

The night is warm when Tyler’s done locking up the bar. Everything has settled since closing time, the streetlights casting a warm glow on the deserted road, quiet.

“Did you want me to drive or…” Tyler questions, a little self-consciously.

Ondrej smiles. “I’m parked at the end of the block.”

They walk side-by-side in the calm of the night, close enough for their knuckles to brush if they wanted to. It’s all Tyler can think about besides putting one foot in front of the other. They reach the corner of the street in silence and all Tyler sees is a red junker of a car that’s missing its front bumper.

“Uh…”

Ondrej passes the car and stops next to, _oh_ , a sleek black motorcycle. “There should be room on the back for you.”

Tyler swallows. “Wow.”

“I got it for my birthday this year,” Ondrej says, unlocking the helmet case on the back. “Thought it was a nice night for a ride.”

Tyler doesn’t tell him he was lucky he got a slice of cake this year for his birthday and instead watches Ondrej take out his sport helmet and the smaller one nestled inside it. His mouth waters a little when Ondrej straddles the bike and kicks the stand back into place.

He looks so good.

“Come on,” Ondrej says, stuffing his helmet on.

Tyler swings his leg over and settles crotch-to-ass with Ondrej, who doesn’t seem to mind the proximity at all. He pops his own helmet on, not bothering to do up the chin strap.

“You might want to hang on.”

Tyler rolls his eyes and opens his mouth to snip back something about how this isn’t an action movie when Ondrej revs the engine and takes off. He flails around for something to hold on to until Ondrej takes a sharp left turn and Tyler has no choice but to wrap his arms around Ondrej’s waist.

They fly towards downtown, the sound of the engine echoing off the growing buildings. Tyler catches their reflection in one of the mirrored skyscrapers when they stop at a traffic light, his arms still tight around Ondrej. It’s a pretty sexy picture.

“You said a left on Ashley, right?” Ondrej asks.

“Yeah, then up a few blocks on the left.”

He eases into the turn this time and they roll to a halt in front of Tyler’s favorite after hours pizzeria. “Oh good, Cally’s working,” he says. “He’s the owner. He’ll hook us up.”

They decide on two pieces of pizza each and an order of loaded fries to share. Cally rings it up for the employee discount despite Tyler not having worked there for well over three years, which makes him feel better about rejecting Ondrej’s credit card. “And a chocolate milkshake,” he adds before handing over some of his tip money from tonight.

 “I invited you to dinner,” Ondrej scolds. “You didn’t have to pay.”

“Too late!” he says with a smile. He finds a table in the corner and spreads out their bounty, taking the bright red trays back to the front and grabbing their milkshake.

Ondrej looks distraught when he returns.

“I’ll get you more napkins but you’ve gotta eat it with your hands.”

“Surely there’s a knife and fork somewhere, these slices are huge!”

“The full experience is just picking it up and shoving it in your mouth.” Tyler demonstrates with his first piece, letting the cheese string out before breaking.

Ondrej reluctantly follows suit, getting a smudge of sauce on his chin. “This is going to be a disaster.”

“A delicious disaster. Try the shake,” Tyler says, grabbing a few fries and swiping them through ketchup. He watches Ondrej’s face for a reaction when the silky smooth chocolate hits his tongue. Tyler is not disappointed. “Good, right?”

“Fantastic, actually.”

Tyler beams, taking a weird pride in bringing Ondrej somewhere he likes. “When we’re done, I’ve got another idea.”

Ondrej raises his eyebrows, mouth full of pizza.

“I think you’ll like it.”

 

He directs Ondrej away from the city as the sky begins to lighten, arms wrapped low around his hips. It feels like they have the city to themselves, not another car on the road as they head for the bridge.

“Pull over!” Tyler shouts when they get close.

Ondrej weaves onto the sandy path and stops before they get too far from the road. “There’s a beach here?” he asks, taking off his helmet to reveal still-perfect hair. “Right off the highway?”

“I mean, it’s sand and a lot of kelp and seaweed so not an _awesome_ beach but, yeah.”

“Why are we at a roadside beach?”

“Because we’re going to watch the sunrise.”

He plops down near the water’s edge and takes off his shoes so he can dig his toes into the sand. Even if it’s not the best beach, Tyler loves the sound of the tide. “Technically this place doesn’t open until later so if you see the cops, you should probably run.”

“What?!”

Tyler laughs. “I’m kidding, sit down.”

Ondrej does, leaning back on his hands to put the low cut of his v-neck on full display. “There’s a lot of this city I don’t know about.”

“A lot of it probably isn’t worth knowing, to be fair.”

Ondrej hums. “Perhaps.”

The very beginnings of color start to spread from the horizon, brightening the sky.

“I think you might be worth knowing,” Ondrej says, stealing Tyler’s breath right out of his chest.

Hot pink blooms from the water, making way for the first tip of the sun. Tyler crosses his legs underneath him and bumps a shoulder against Ondrej’s, tilts his head to look up at him through his eyelashes.

There’s a moment where he thinks Ondrej might be leaning closer, where he thinks he might just tilt his chin up a little and meet him halfway, a moment when his heart beats a little quicker in anticipa—

And his phone rings.

Piercing the perfect quiet, it rings. Tyler sighs as he tugs it out of his pocket to see Bray’s stupid face on the screen. “I’m just gonna…yeah.”

He gets up and answers the call, heading toward a pile of kelp to kick back into the water in anger. “This better be good.”

 

10

 

Brayden is freaking out.

There’s an official car coming to pick him up in an hour and he doesn’t have any shoes to wear. Proper shoes. Clean shoes with laces and no holes.

He hears Tyler get home and rushes to the front door. “Oh thank god.”

“Just breathe,” he says, letting Brayden pace back in forth in front of him. “You can borrow my shoes.”

“It’s not just about the shoes. It’s the whole entire concept of me going to the _manor_ to take fucking, I don’t know, prince lessons!” He stops pacing to grip Tyler by the shoulders, anchor himself. “I’m a fraud.”

“Brayden,” he says, voice settling into the Serious Register. “I know you hate when you’re bad at things, but this is a moment when you’re just going to have to fake it ‘til you make it, okay? None of us have any freaking idea how to be a prince or rich or like, dignified. You’re starting at a fresh zero. So you’re just going to have to go with the flow and hope you don’t fuck anything up too badly.”

“I never should have said yes.”

“You deserve to know this part of your family! You deserve to _be_ part of your family, okay? And they seem pretty excited to have you. I don’t think they’re going to banish you from the bloodline if you don’t use the right fork at dinner.”

“There’s going to be more than one fork?!”

“Forget I said that. Let’s get those shoes.”

Even with Tyler’s “job interview” shoes on, Brayden still feels a little sick to his stomach. He nibbles at his fingernails while he waits, watching a muted infomercial on the TV. He fiddles with the fake Rolex he bought from a guy in NYC a few years ago, a fingertip tracing the scratch on the face of it.

The timely, polite knock on the front door spikes his adrenaline and he rushes to answer it.

Valtteri looks as put-together as he ever has, blonde hair perfectly tousled and collar pressed flat against his neck, tie properly knotted, and probably a real Rolex hanging on his right wrist. “Good morning, Mr. Hudson.”

“H-hello. Hi.”

Valtteri’s responding smile is disarming. “The car is ready for you.”

“Right, thanks. Uh, one second.” He turns back to click off the TV and grab his wallet from the kitchen counter. “Okay.”

He reaches for the car door at the same time as Valtteri and their hands awkwardly collide and holy shit Brayden just needs to breathe.

“Sorry,” he stutters, ducking into the backseat of the sedan and taking a few gulping breaths.

Valtteri joins him in the back moments later, much to Brayden’s chagrin. “There’s a few things we’ll need to go over before we get to the manor.”

Brayden settles his bouncing knee and focuses on Tyler’s advice. He can fake it. He can totally fucking fake it. “Go for it.”

 

By the time he’s signed enough papers to satisfy Valtteri, they’ve arrived at the front gate of the royal grounds and been waved through. Brayden presses his forehead to the window so he can see all the way to the top of the manor where the royal city flags flap in the breeze.

His forehead leaves a really cute grease mark on the glass and he tries to wipe it away while Valtteri isn’t looking. Shit.

“Don’t mind the window, Mr. Hudson,” he says, without looking Brayden’s way. “The car is due for a wash anyway.”

Brayden lowers his hand back to his lap in defeat. “Sorry.”

“If I could suggest something to you from my experience,” Valtteri says, continuing once Brayden’s nodded eagerly. “You will very rarely be truly in the wrong. And since that is the case, there will very rarely be a need for you to apologize. You will make mistakes today and tomorrow and the day after, but you are learning. So you won’t need to be sorry about it.”

“O-okay.” Brayden bites his tongue against the _sorry_ that’s bubbling up. “I was raised in Canada so, y’know, that might be a hard habit to break.”

Valtteri cracks a small smile. “We’ll work on it.”

The car rolls to a stop and the driver steps out to open Brayden’s door.

“Follow me,” Valtteri calls from the other side of the driveway. “I’ll give you a tour.”

The entry of the manor is just as opulent and over-decorated as Brayden imagined, all gold and marble and ornate frames of stuffy royal portraits. He sees the one of Princess Janice at the base of the spiral staircase and scans her painted face for some sort of resemblance.

Maybe.

“Most of the first floor of the manor is comprised of intimate sitting rooms as well as the grand ballroom and the grand dining room.”

Brayden scurries to catch up to Valtteri, who continues walking down the hall.

“The Lavender Room is the most common room used for official meetings with foreign and domestic dignitaries.” He opens a door on the right, introducing a room covered in pale purple wallpaper. “And across the hall is the Gold Room, which you may recognize from press conferences and the annual Christmas speech.”

The room is gaudier in person, Brayden thinks.

“The grand dining room is for the holidays and official dinner parties. It looks out over the gardens, which are lovely in the spring. There’s a smaller dining room on the other side of the manor for fundraisers and other unofficial business.”

Brayden keeps pace, making sure his shoes hit the marble floor at the same time as Valtteri’s. “Are there a lot of dinner parties?” he asks, remembering Tyler’s mention of multiple forks.

“The princess likes to show off her Michelin star chef as often as possible.”

Right.

They reach the grand dining room and it’s just as luxurious as the rest of manor with a table long enough to seat an entire city block.

“You look overwhelmed.”

“I am,” Brayden confesses, tracing a finger along one of the high-backed chairs around the table. “And I’m not sure I can be the type of person who has dinner parties with royalty.”

“That’s why I’m here,” Valtteri says.

And something about the certainty in his voice sets Brayden at ease.

“Let me show you the guest house.”

The guest house is unattached from the main building, out behind the gardens that are in late summer bloom. It’s bigger than the house he shares with Jake and Tyler and Slater but soft in a way the manor wasn’t. There’s nothing gold or extravagant here.

“This is yours,” Valtteri says. “For when you would like to stay on the premises.”

“Excuse me?”

“There are three bedrooms and a master suite. Three and a half baths and a full kitchen, entertainment center, and study. All for your use.”

“I don’t need an entire house.”

Valtteri hums, pale blue eyes looking stunningly icy in the sun shining through the windows. “I think you might find you grow into it.”

Brayden’s imagination isn’t that vivid. He’s still not sure he believes this isn’t a dream he’s going to wake up from soon.

“But that’s not today. Today is for having tea in the garden and planning.” He puts a gentle hand between Brayden’s shoulder blades and steers him back outside into the fresh air so he can breathe.

It’s really unfair that Valtteri is thoughtful _and_ beautiful. “W-what are we planning?”

“A royal curriculum.”   


	2. Part Two

11

 

Jake tilts the tabletop fan to blow directly on his face, feet up on the counter. It’s meltingly hot for the end of October which is just totally offensive, made worse only by the gas station’s pathetic air conditioning situation.

He’s pretty sure Mitch is hiding in the walk-in beer cooler.

The chime on the door goes off and Jake sits up when he recognizes the guy on the security camera. “The royal advisor let you out early today?”

Bray slumps onto the counter dramatically. “We went suit shopping. I’m exhausted.”

“Sounds like the worst.”

“Why does anyone need more than one suit?”

Jake pats him on the head. “You’re still gonna be home for Halloween, right? They’re not holding you captive for some royal costume ball, are they?”

“No,” Bray mumbles into the counter. “I’ll be home to hand out candy.”

“Good.” There are a lot of things Jake doesn’t give a shit about, but Halloween? That is not to be trifled with.

“I think I’m gonna go see my parents,” Brayden says, standing up. “I’m starting to feel weird about them not knowing.”

“Back to Moose Jaw? Been a while, eh?”

“Few years, yeah. I think it’ll be nice to get away from here.”

“As long as you come back,” Jake clarifies. “You’re not allowed to run away and leave us.”

Something in the way Brayden frowns makes Jake think he hit too close to the mark.

“Mitch restocked the zebra cakes,” he offers. “And Tyler’s going on an actual date tonight. At a normal date time. Me and Slater’re gonna to wait up and give him a hard time about it. That’ll definitely cheer you up.”

“Oh, with Ondrej?!” Bray perks right up.

Jake nods. “Apparently they’re going to Eddie V’s.”

“Holy shit,” he says, wondering off down the zebra cake aisle. “Wonder what he sees in Tyler.”

“Clearly has bad taste.”

They’re both laughing when an armed, royal guard Jake doesn't recognize steps into the store and kills the vibe. “Valtteri would like you to know your new suits are wrinkling and need to be hung up properly. He asks that you consider wrapping it up.”

Jake doesn’t appreciate Valtteri’s tone of voice and raises his eyebrows at Bray.

“It’s fine,” he concedes, grabbing his snack. “I’ll see you tonight.”

“You better! He deserves to be roasted properly,” Jake shouts after Bray as he heads back into the late afternoon heat, door jingling closed behind him.

“Uh, was that a royal guard?” Mitch asks, peaking around the corner display of Halloween themed candy.

“Yeah, don’t worry about it,” Jake says, turning to pretend to count the packs of cigarettes behind the counter. He knows he shouldn’t say anything more, that the guards at their house would probably find out immediately and behead him or something.

“Are you in trouble?”

“No! No, no one’s in trouble. Go back to hiding in the beer cooler.”

Mitch huffs. “You need to clean the bathrooms.”

Jake settles back in his chair, propping his feet on the counter. “Think you better take a look at the schedule again, bud. Last I saw, it was your turn for bathroom duty.”

“I literally just did it yesterday,” he says, stalking over to the wall where the schedule is posted. “There’s no way it’s…I hate you.”

Jake shrugs and tilts the fan just a little to the right.

 

He gets home around dark, bearing gifts of cheap beer and overpriced chips and salsa. Slater’s got all of his notecards and textbooks spread over the table looking stressed. As Jake unloads the beers into the fridge, Bray comes out of the bathroom wrapped in a ridiculous robe, a puff of steam following behind him.

“Really? Keystone?” he scoffs.

“Oh I’m sorry, has Valtteri refined your palate? It’s beer.”

Jake gets a towel in the face.

“I know I said I wouldn’t do this, but I _really_ need to finish this chapter,” Slater whines from the floor.

“Nope,” Jake says, dropping down onto the couch. “A deal is a deal. We’re drinking and catching up. I feel like I haven’t seen either of you weeks. Does anyone in this house even sleep here anymore?”

Slater flops onto his back. “I’ve had to pick up some extra shifts while Connor’s been sick. And Braydon’s been helping me study for my practicals.”

“Uh huh. _Practicals_ ,” Jake says, smirking. “That’s what you medical folk call it these days?”

Slater kicks him.

“Whatever, you’re like, the smartest person I know,” Jake continues. “You’ll be fine. Now go get yourself a beer and Bray, put some fucking clothes on, _jesus_.”

"I feel like you need to put money in the Asshole Jar for that," Bray complains despite doing exactly what he asked.

Once properly clothed, he lays on the couch with Jake while Slater curls up in the chair across from them, his feet tucked up under him.

“So what have you been up to?” Bray asks.

“Nothing,” he says, in all honesty. “I made friends with the guards out front the other week. They’re pretty cool dudes. I think Adam’s gonna take me to a shooting range the next time he has a day off.”

Slater sputters. “The last thing you need to do is learn how to shoot a gun.”

“I feel like it’s better than me _not_ knowing how to shoot a gun.”

“He has a point,” Bray says, reaching out for the TV remote. “You wanted to be a cop a while back, right? Maybe some hands-on training would help get all that going again.”

“Yeah, I don’t think the Academy takes people like me.”

Bray settles on Thursday Night Football. “Can’t you get stuff expunged off your record after so many years? It’s been a long time since, y’know…”

“Felonies don’t really go away.”

Slater sighs, suddenly acting like he cares about the Giants and Chiefs.  

“I wonder if I can pardon people as a prince. You think they’d let me? I’d make you first on my list.”

Jake laughs. “You’ll have to ask Valtteri about that.”

“Maybe I will.”

Jake takes a long sip of his beer, watching Slater as he does. His face is neutral, jaw relaxed, but his hands are balled into fists in his lap. Jake understands the anger that lingers, even after all this time. He still has nights when he can’t sleep because he’s so angry.

Bray knows enough to be angry too, sometimes, but he doesn’t know the whole story. Jake fluffs his hair just to hear him squawk. “Come on, let’s play cards or something.”

“Gin rummy?” Bray asks, moving so Jake can get up and grab the deck they keep on the bookshelf.

“Only if Slater doesn’t mind losing.” It’s a throw away comment that lands perfectly, if the look on Slater’s face is anything to go by.

“Oh, you’re on,” he says, moving to shove his papers and books into his backpack.

 

Between the three of them, they nearly finish off the case of beer before Tyler returns from his date. As it stands, Slater can no longer count how many diamonds are on a card and Bray has fallen into near-constant giggles. Jake is warm and content, drunk but not sloppy. Like, he could definitely walk home and not get a PI at this point.

The crunch of tires on gravel pull their attention to the front door.

“He’s home,” Slater announces, struggling to get to his feet and then to the window. “Oh my god he drives an amazing car. So sexy.”

Jake lets out raucous burp. “Get out of the window. Let them kiss in peace.”

“They’re kissing?!” Bray joins Slater at the window.

“They just ate hundreds of dollars of aphrodisiacs in a romantic setting. Of course they’re kissing.”

“Oh, he’s coming!” Slater shouts, ducking down as if Tyler hadn’t already seen his stupid face.

Tyler lets himself in and calmly kicks off his fanciest pair of shoes before turning on them. “Could you be a little less obvious next time. It’s kind of a buzz kill.”

“What, Drej isn’t into being watched?” Jake jokes.

Tyler heads for the fridge, cracking open one of the last beers. “You’re the worst.”

“How was it?” Bray asks, totally not roasting him at all. “Was it perfectly romantic?”

Tyler beams. “I don’t think anything is going to top it. Like, ever. He fed me _caviar_ on a tiny little spoon. And we _each_ got a dessert! Who needs two desserts?!”

Bray swoons.

“When do we get to meet him?” Slater asks, ending his question with a hiccup.

“Uh, never.”

“Oh boo,” Jake says, getting up to join everyone in the kitchen. “We’ve gotta meet him, house rules.”

“House rules don’t apply to Ondrej,” Tyler says, firm. “He’s way too good for me. You don’t need to worry about him defiling what little honor I have left.”

“It’s still house rules,” Slater pouts.

“It’s not even that serious!”

Bray narrows his eyes. “He just spent like, hundreds of dollars on you.”

“Which is the equivalent of going to Applebee’s for us. It’s not serious.”

Jake’s pretty sure no one in the room believes Tyler. Not even Tyler believes Tyler. “Okay, fine. Someone go pick a movie since Slater’s too drunk to play cards anymore.”

“Hey!”

“You did think a 3 was an 8 last game,” Bray says.

“An easy mistake!” Slater argues.

Tyler holds up a DVD case from the living room. “Beetlejuice?”

They agree in chorus, weaving their way right to the couch to settle in. Jake takes the chair, propping his feet up on the table to nurse his last beer. Bray barely makes it through the opening credits and Slater slumps over not too long after.

“You think we should put them to bed?” Tyler asks.

Jake shrugs. He selfishly wants them all in the same room for just a little longer.

“Fine with me, you need another?” Tyler asks, heading for the fridge.

“Nah.”

The movie carries on while Slater snores and Tyler drinks. Jake goes through the alphabet as he wiggles the tab off his can and it doesn’t pop off until Y.

Well that’s perfectly terrible.

“Bray’s going to visit his parents,” he says, trying to derail the memory lane his brain was starting down. “He wants to tell them about the whole prince thing face-to-face.”

“Wow, guess that means he’s pretty serious about it.”

“Guess so.” It’s still weird if Jake lets himself think about it too long. Brayden as a prince, all dressed up and royal. He can’t really picture him standing around in a suit greeting other royal people or attending fundraising parties for fun. “D’you think it’s weird?”

 Tyler looks over to where Bray’s asleep on the couch, breathing even. “If I think about it hard enough, yeah. It’s pretty weird.”

Jake’s so glad it’s not just him. “We’ll put ‘em to bed when the movie’s done.”

“Deal.”

 

12

 

It’s a long flight to Moose Jaw.

Brayden watches the small city grow as the plane lands, details slowly rendering into view. There’s already snow on the ground, piled up in the grass, and the air in the jetway is frigid. It’s not surprising for November, but he’s glad he remembered a coat.

Adam follows him to baggage claim – the one condition of Brayden leaving Tampa. He had argued down what was his full guard detail to one guard with one gun and no official uniform because the last thing he wants is to be the talk of fucking Moose Jaw. The last thing anyone wants is him to be the talk of _anything_.   

His parents are waiting for him by the baggage carousel and he folds into his mom’s arms easily. “I missed you,” he mumbles into her shoulder, breathing in the flowery perfume that smells like home.

“I’m glad you called, honey.”

“This is Adam,” he introduces. “The friend I was telling you about.”

“Of course,” his mom says, leaning over to hug him. “We’re happy to have you.”

The four of them pile into the old SUV Brayden’s dad still drives, scratches and dents and worn out seats telling of a lifetime of use.

The town gets familiar the further they drive from the airport, stores and gas stations and the high school he almost didn’t graduate from. They take a right turn near the cemetery and all the way at the end of the road is the house he grew up in.

It’s small and humble and nothing at all like the royal manor.

“Is Brett here?” Brayden asks, tugging his duffel bag out of the trunk.

“Yeah, he probably just got off work,” his dad says.

Brayden sighs. “Good. I’ve, uh, I’ve got some news I’d like everyone to hear.”

“Of course,” his mom says, ushering him and Adam inside where it’s warm. “But dinner first. You two must be starving.”

Brayden agrees, watching her cook from a stool at the breakfast nook like he used to when he was younger, back before Brett became his brother. Before he ever knew the word adoption. He traces the design of the countertop and settles.

“I’m going to take our things up,” Adam says, low and quiet enough that Brayden’s mom doesn’t hear.

Brayden turns back to the kitchen once Adam starts up the stairs, every few steps squeaky and loud. “Have things been good?” he asks.

His mom drains the noodles. “As good as it’s ever been. Your dad got a raise a few months ago and Brett got promoted at the hardware store. He’s a shift manager now.”

“That’s really good. I’m… I’m glad.”

“And what have you been up to?” she asks, sprinkling some herbs into the red sauce simmering on the stove. “How’re the boys?”

“They’re good.” His mouth goes a little dry. “But, uh, that’s kind of what I want to talk to everybody about actually. It’s…everyone should hear.”

His mom gives him a soft smile that doesn’t reach her eyes. “Is it good news at least? You’re not in trouble, are you?”

“No,” he says, breathing out a laugh. “No, I’m fine. The guys are fine. Everything is…it’s fine.”

She eyes him as she wipes her hands on her apron. “Tell me more about Adam. He seems nice.”

“I dunno, he’s…uh. He’s been helping me with…things. In a way.” Brayden quickly realizes he can’t say a single true thing about Adam at this point. “He works with me.” _For_ me, his brain supplies _._

“And how long have you been seeing each other?”

“We’re not…no. I would warn you if I was bringing someone…just, no.” No offense to Adam but he’s way too doughy in the face for Brayden’s likes.

“Well fine. Grab some plates down, then. And take the noodles to the table.”

Brayden sets the table, running a finger along the edge of the tablecloth – the same one he remembers from his childhood. He searches for the faded spot of grape juice he spilled on it the first time he was allowed a real glass, catching the edge of the stain peaking out from under a plate.

“Well look what the cat dragged in,” Brett says, stomping down the stairs.

Brayden beams, walking right into a tight hug.

“Missed you.” Brett holds on tightly, letting the hug linger. He's definitely gotten taller since Brayden's seen him last.

“Heard you got promoted,” he says, finally stepping back. “Proud of you.”

Brett smiles. “Climbing the ladder, you know how it is.”

Brayden’s stomach does a little flip. “Yeah, right.” He’s done a little more than climb the ladder the past two months. He’s been nervous about telling his family from the moment he booked his flight, but this is the first time he feels dread.

"Was that your boyfriend I ran into upstairs?" Brett asks, knocking a shoulder against Brayden's.

"No. He's just a regular friend."

“Todd, get in here! Dinner’s ready!” his mom calls, bringing the pot of red sauce to the table. “Wash up, you two. And grab Adam from upstairs.”

Brayden and Brett share the sink in the hall bathroom like they used to years ago and settle into their unassigned assigned seats at the table, Adam in the often-empty one to Brayden’s left. There’s hand-holding and grace and then the pot of noodles circling. Brayden piles his plate high.

“Brayden, you had an announcement, didn’t you?” his mom asks once everyone has dug in to a portion of pasta.

He’d hoped he would get to enjoy the food before ruining everything. “Yeah, uh…” He swallows, sets his fork down. Rip off the bandaid. Just rip it off. “My birth mom found me.”

Three pairs of eyes swivel in his direction. Adam puts his fork down quietly.

“She lives in Tampa, actually. Which is like, the wildest coincidence. But, yeah. She found me in September.”

“Oh, Brayden,” his mom sighs. “That’s…that’s wonderful.”

“I dunno, there’s…there’s more to it than that.” He takes a deep breath and says the next nine words as quickly as he can. “She’s the next in line for the city throne.”

“What?” Brett says, letting his silverware clatter to his plate.

“She’s royal. And that means I’m…I’m royal, too.”

Brett looks _angry_.

“I’ve been working with a royal advisor for the past month and a half,” he continues, figuring it’s better to get everything out in the open. “Adam isn’t my friend, he’s one of my bodyguards. They’ve asked me to consider becoming a prince.”

“Are you joking?” Brett shouts.

“Brett!”

“No!” He stands, nearly knocking his chair over. “You come home for the first time in three years and expect us to believe you just happened to find your real mom and she’s a, what, a _princess_?”

“I’m not ly--.”

“You always liked to think you were special. This is a whole new level, though.”

“Brett, come on…”

But it’s no use, Brett’s already halfway down the hall and stomping up the stairs. The door slamming behind him is the cherry on top. Brayden feels hot with embarrassment.

“I’m sorry,” he whispers, eyes prickling with tears. “I-I shouldn’t have come.”

He pushes back from the table and follows Brett’s footsteps down the hall. But instead of going upstairs, he grabs his poor excuse of a winter coat and runs outside, the snow crunching under his feet. He fumbles his phone out of his pocket and tries to text Tyler or Slater but he can barely see the keyboard, vision blurry.

He paces down the driveway until he gets to the mailbox, breath puffing out in front of him. It’s cold. It’s so, so cold. And he’s so, so stupid.

Fuck, he should’ve just stayed in Tampa.

He should’ve never said yes to Valtteri.

He should've turned away his birth mom for giving him up in the first place, too afraid to raise a baby alone in the public eye.

He should’ve walked out of the High Court the day they took his blood and told him it was a match.

He should’ve…

He startles at a hand on his shoulder. “You can’t stand out here, honey. You’ll catch a cold. Your father’s starting a fire. Come back inside.”

Brayden wipes at his eyes, breathing deeply to try and settle himself.

“Come back inside.”

 

The fire is warm, casting a crackling glow against the old wallpaper in the living room. Brayden accepts the blanket his mom wraps around him and the arm she uses to pull him snug against her side.

“We knew,” she says. “That this day would come. It doesn’t mean we’re ready for it, but we knew.”

“I wasn’t looking for her,” Brayden says, quiet. “I wasn’t, I swear.”

“It’s okay if you were.”

“I wasn’t. I was…these guys just showed up to my work. I didn’t know what to do! And then it’s like, who doesn’t want to be royal?”

“No one blames you for wanting to know your real mom.”

Brayden huffs. “She’s not my real mom.”

He hears his mom’s breath stutter and she brushes his hair off his forehead, pressing a kiss to the skin there. “You are such a good boy. My boy.”

“I don’t want to be a Point if it means I can’t be a Hudson anymore,” he says, laying the root of his fear bare.

“We’re always going to be your family, honey. Always. We’ll be right here, loving you.”

Brayden sags against his mom as the fire pops. “I don’t want Brett to hate me.”

“He’ll come around.” His dad’s voice is a surprise. He’d nearly forgotten he was sitting across from them in the dark. “He’s always looked up to you.”

“I don’t want him to think I don’t want to be his brother anymore.”

“You’re not gonna forget about us when you’re off being royal, right?” Brett leans against the archway of the living room, the light from the dining room throwing him into shadow.

His words make Brayden’s chest ache. “Never.”

Brett crosses the room and makes a place for himself on the couch next to Brayden. “Okay then.”

“You’ll always have a home here,” his dad says. “You don’t ever have to doubt that.”

Something small that Brayden didn’t know was out of place, settles right back where it belongs.  

 

13

 

“It’s my turn to take you out,” Tyler says, shaking a dry martini before straining it into a proper glass. “I got Vladdy to cover my shift tonight. So once ten o’clock hits, you’re all mine.”

Ondrej sips his drink. “And where are you taking me?”

Tyler smiles. “Somewhere a little lower-brow than you’re used to.”

 

He takes Ondrej back across the bay in Slater’s car, familiar roads leading to their neck of the woods. The parking lot of the bar is nearly full, but he squeezes into a space between a giant pickup and the curb with some maneuvering.

Saadfather’s is going to be crammed even if the blackened front windows give no indication as to what’s going on inside. It’s a lot like the Den, if Tyler’s being honest, but the chicken wings alone put it a cut above.

“There’s not a dress code here, is there?” Ondrej asks, a little smirk in his tone.

Tyler reaches over the consul to pull him into a kiss by the front of his tasteful cotton shirt. “You look great, c’mon.”

The bar is dark and noisy, heavy music filling up the space that isn’t occupied by people. Tyler takes Ondrej’s hand to lead him to the back near the pong tables and dart boards. He spots a free hightop in the corner and settles.

“So what makes this place special?” Ondrej asks, sincere as always.

Tyler waves over one of the girls in short-shorts and places an order for way too many wings, a pitcher of beer, and a set of ping pong balls. “It’s a part of the city you haven’t seen yet.”

Ondrej smiles. “It’s true that I don’t tend to venture this far west unless I’m going to the beach.”

“I think you’ll be impressed. I’m gonna go put our names down for pong.”

 

They set up their cups against a short guy named Matt and his girlfriend who don't seem like they'll be assholes about anything. That's always a risk when Tyler plays at Saadfather's but Ondrej seems like he's not easily bothered by much. Unlike Slater, who is Tyler's usual partner.

“Do you know what you’re doing?” he asks once they're all ready to go, doubtful that someone as fancy as Ondrej has ever stooped to beer pong.

“I did go to college,” Ondrej snarks, dropping their balls into the water cup before taking aim and sinking one in the center cup.

Tyler might be a little in love, if he’s being honest.

 

They win the game handedly, Matt and his girlfriend forced to leave five cups on the table. They forfeit their next game though, on account of their dinner showing up and their beer nearly being gone.

“This is a lot of food,” Ondrej says, faced with the pile of wings.

“Yeah, I probably got too excited with the order.”

Ondrej piles a few wings on his plate. “I’m assuming the paper towels are the napkins?”

Tyler nods and watches with glee as Ondrej is forced to eat with his fingers again, eventually smearing hot sauce across his lips and cheek. “You got a little…”

He leans over without thinking, wiping the errant sauce away with his thumb.

Ondrej chases his touch with the tip of his tongue, eyes following Tyler as he settles back on his own side of the table.

Tyler works his own lip between his teeth, excited at the spark of something starting to bloom. He finishes his pint to buy some time, the condensation on the glass feels good against his buzzed skin. “We could, uh, take the rest to go. If you wanted to…go.”

Ondrej cleans his fingertips, lips clinging to each one until the sauce is gone.

It’s upsetting how much Tyler likes it.

“Excuse me,” Ondrej says, stopping one of the waitresses as she passes. “Could we get a box for these, please. When you have a moment.”

Tyler fiddles with the corner of his paper towel, ripping off little pieces of it as silence stretches out across the table.

Ondrej reaches out to calm Tyler’s fidgeting, his palm warm and dry against Tyler’s wrist. “It’s my turn to take you somewhere you’ve never been before, yes?”

Tyler nods.

 

14

 

The doorbell rings and Jake bolts straight up on the couch, waking suddenly from a nap. He waits, rubbing his eyes into focus and hoping whoever it is goes away on their own.

It rings again.

“Who the fuck is fancy enough to ring the fucking doorbe--.” The words die in his throat when his tears open the door to see _exactly_ who is ringing the doorbell this late on a Saturday.

“Hello Jacob.”

Jake considers slamming the door shut and pretending it’s all a nightmare. Or calling up the royal guards to escort this unwanted guest off his stoop. Possibly straight to jail, or back to Quebec. “What are you doing here?”

“I need your help.”

Yanni looks exactly the same as he did the last time Jake saw him, playful smile and glint in his eye. He looks exactly the same and Jake’s heart is breaking. “I thought I made it clear back in Syracuse that I wasn’t doing that anymore.”

“Can I explain myself?”

Jake knows he can just shut the door. He can shut the door and lock all the windows, turn off the lights. Pretend he’s not here. Ignore everything that just showed up. “You’re lucky Slater’s not here.”

Yanni ducks under Jake’s arm and into the house. “Nice place. Which one is your room?”

“No. We’re doing this out here.” He has to draw the line somewhere.

 Yanni props himself up against the wall, crosses his arms. “You’ve changed.”

“Yes.” He didn’t have a choice.

“I need your help.”

“Be more specific.”

“I need money.”

“And you came _here_?”

Yanni reaches into his back pocket and pulls out a roll of bills. “I was hoping you could turn this into five-grand.”

Jake doesn’t buy it. “What else?”

Yanni is kind enough to look at his feet before he smiles. “I need somewhere to stay.”

“No.”

“Jake…”

“No! You’re down here doing fucking mob business again, trying to drag me down that road with you and…fuck, _Yanni_. I’m in a good place. I have a roof over my head and a real job. I’ve got people in my life who care about me. You know how to gamble, go make your own money.”

Yanni reaches out, fingers curling around Jake’s arm to stop him from turning away. “I wouldn’t ask you if I didn’t need to. You’re all I have left.”

“You said you were going to stop,” Jake says through gritted teeth, anger simmering just under his skin. “When I took the fall for you, you sent me a letter and said you’d stop.”

“Someone called in a favor.”

“That’s bullshit.”

“It’s just one job. I only need to stay a few weeks and I’ll be gone. Like I was never here.”

Jake’s chest aches at the thought of it. “I can only promise tonight,” he caves. “Slater’ll be home before 7 and I doubt he’s going to be as charitable.”

Yanni softens, letting go of Jake’s arm and putting distance between them. “Thank you.”

“I’m…going outside,” Jake decides. “To breathe.”

The night is cool and quiet and Jake sits on the broken steps leading up to the front door, holding his head in his hands. He’s an idiot. And a pushover. And his heart is beating like he just disarmed a bomb, like he robbed a bank and got away with it, like he saw the joy of it all spread across Yanni’s face for the first time.

What the _fuck_ is Yanni doing in his house.

His phone buzzes in his pocket and he’s surprised it’s not a text from Slater, somehow knowing that he’s harboring his mortal enemy in their house. Instead, it’s Tyler, letting him know he won’t be home via a long string of eggplant emojis.

No one’s coming to rescue him, it seems.  

The smell of cigarette smoke curls under Jake’s nose and it takes him bare moments to realize where it’s coming from. “Yanni!”

He stalks around to the side of the house where his room is, spotting the open window and a hand sticking out of it holding a cigarette.

Jake plucks the offensive stick from Yanni’s fingers and stomps it out in the grass. “Outside or not at all.”

“What sucked the fun out of you?” Yanni asks, poking his head out of the window.

“Prison!” Jake shouts back.

“You are still so handsome when you’re angry.”

Jake’s nerves _burn_ with the words. “I want to hit you.”

“Would it make you feel better?”

“Yes!”

Yanni disappears then, leaving the window open behind him. Jake considers just punching the side of the house or kicking the weedy looking shrubs no one takes care of. But then Yanni’s in the grass next to him, as short and broad as he ever was.

“Hit me.”

Jake eyes a spot along the soft curve of Yanni’s jaw, imagines his knuckles bruising it up. Yanni turns his head just slightly, baring it to him. “Stop it.”

“If it will make you feel better, do it.”

Jake sighs. “I could have lived my whole life thinking you were back in Quebec, out of reach, doing whatever it is you were doing. Why couldn’t you have given me that fantasy? Why did you have to drag me back down to you?”

“When I found you were here, when I had tracked you down, I knew I couldn’t leave until I had seen you. For better or worse.”

Jake wants to keep yelling. Keep arguing. Keep imagining the bruises he could put on Yanni’s pale skin. “I’m angry but I won’t turn you away. I wish I was that strong of a person, but I’m not.”

“You know, that’s how I knew you loved me, right?” Yanni asks softly. “Back then.”

The words cut Jake off at the knees. He kept those three words so carefully hidden back then, too young and scared to say them out loud.

“Only two people in the whole world who have never kicked me out. It was easy to find the common denominator.”

“Who’s the other?” Jake asks.

Yanni quietly smiles, shifting his weight from one foot to the other. “My maman. And she has to love me.”

Jake doesn’t really know what to say to that.

“I’ll be gone before Slater gets home.”

He watches Yanni walk away, letting himself back into the house, and like moth to a flame Jake’s drawn to follow.

He locks the front door and switches off the light in the living room, casting the whole house into darkness. Yanni didn’t shut the door of his bedroom fully and Jake pushes in, catching sight of the smooth plane of Yanni’s back glowing in the blue light of the moon.

The click of the knob and the twist of the lock are loud, Yanni tilting an ear toward where Jake is standing so that spot on his jaw he wants to bruise is in clear sight again. There’s a question that settles in the air when Yanni drops his shirt to the floor.

Jake answers.

He crowds Yanni against the wall until his palms press flat against it. Jake looks his fill – the bulge of his arms, the curve of his shoulders, the dip of his spine -  before pressing his lips to the column of his neck. Yanni sighs and Jake bares his teeth, biting down just enough to ache, maybe enough to mark.

“Jake,” Yanni breathes out.

Jake drags his fingers down the curve of Yanni’s chest, the flat of his stomach, the v of his hips. He shouldn’t pop the button of his jeans or follow the zipper’s teeth with a hand, but Yanni arches into it, filling his palm.

It’s easy to flip him, press the whole length of his body against Yanni’s and tilt his chin up for a kiss. God, it feels just as good as it always did, like he could kiss Yanni for the rest of his life.

“Fuck,” he whispers against Yanni’s lips. It’s a mistake doing this, the whole thing is a mistake, but he can’t stop. Fuck, he can’t stop. “Stop me,” he gasps, making space between them. “You can stop me.”

Yanni’s breathing heavy, chest heaving with it. “Never.”

Jake kisses him again, pulling his bottom lip between his teeth before he moves away again, giving himself room to lead Yanni toward the bed by the beltloops of his jeans.

 

15

 

Tyler feels wild around the edges when his back hits the plush mattress, Ondrej covering him quickly, pressing him down. They’re both half-dressed, belts and shirts and pants hanging loosely around their hips and shoulders.

Ondrej leaves a trail of kisses along Tyler’s jaw, across his collarbone. He stretches the neck of Tyler’s shirt so his mouth can reach the flat of his pec, teeth curling around the bud of his nipple.

Tyler threads his fingers through Ondrej’s hair to hold him there. “Fuck, c’mon.”

Ondrej sits back, stripping out of his shirt easily. Tyler props himself up enough to do the same, tossing it without a care as he works on his pants, already low on his hips.

When they crash back together, Tyler gets a palm against Ondrej’s back, dragging down until he reaches the smooth arch of it. He groans against Ondrej’s lips when he settles on the plush curve of his ass.

Ondrej hitches Tyler’s legs up, a thigh over each arm to open him up.

“Yeah, please, I want…” Tyler doesn’t know what he wants. He wants everything, all at once.

“Tell me,” Ondrej says before reaching toward one of the nightstands. “Tell me what you want, I’ll give you anything you ask.”

Tyler feels drunk with the options. “Fuck me. Been thinking about it so much.”

Ondrej settles between Tyler’s hips smiling. “Thinking about me getting inside you?”

“ _Yes_ ,” Tyler whines, drawing out the s.    

The pop of a cap is music to Tyler’s ears and he steadies himself as Ondrej gets his fingers slick, the first one sliding in so easily after all the kissing and touching and grinding before they even got to the bed. Tyler’s ready, moaning all showy and needy when Ondrej lights him up.

“Another?”

Tyler nods, loving the slow stretch of it. Ondrej’s good with his hands and Tyler gets carried away thinking about how good he’ll be with his dick.

“Look at you.”

Tyler shivers at the tone of Ondrej’s voice as he works his fingers inside of him. “Feels so good.”

Ondrej leans over, changing the angle and swallowing Tyler’s moan with a kiss. Tyler can feel how ready Ondrej is, dick heavy against his thigh as he gives Tyler another finger.

“Almost there.”

Tyler wants to be impatient, to demand Ondrej stop being so considerate and just _take_ _him._ But he waits, brushes a thumb over his own nipple and rides the spike of arousal that trickles down his spine. Rides Ondrej’s fingers until he can barely take the anticipation.

He feels Ondrej pull back and then something so much better than fingers presses against him.

Ondrej’s so slow, barely inching his dick in before rocking back out, a teasing slide that’s making Tyler sweat. Making him shake and gasp and get absolutely needy for it.

"You're the best thing I've ever seen," Ondrej whispers, reverently sliding his hands along Tyler's thighs, his hips, gripping there as he sinks deeper.

This is all easily in Tyler's top five and Ondrej doesn’t even have his whole dick in him yet. “Oh fuck, you’re gonna kill me.”

Ondrej seems to lose some of his composure at Tyler’s words, finally settling with a heavy exhale.

 

16

 

Slater never gets tired of how tight Braydon is around him on his knees like this. The way his body feels made for Slater with his ass in the air. He watches Braydon clench his teeth, try to bury his soft groans in the pillow, as Slater works him over.

“Let me hear you, babe.”

Braydon gasps as Slater fucks deep into the heat of him. It’s one of Slater’s favorite things, to listen to Braydon quietly fall apart on his dick. And with each thrust, he knows he’s getting Braydon closer and closer to the edge.

Braydon’s fingers reach back to grasp Slater’s thigh, keep him close as he snaps his hips, really putting his back into it.  He smiles, proud, when he gets the headboard to tap against the wall with a few good thrusts.

They’re never very loud in bed, neither one of them much of a conversationalist, but Slater always thinks of all the things he’d say if he was. How perfect Braydon is like this, how he’d keep him here all the time if he could. How he’s never been with anyone who makes him feel this wild with lust.

He thinks about pulling out and rolling Braydon over, riding him until he comes all over his chest. Fuck, he’s beautiful when he’s messy. He thinks about sliding his fingers through the mess he’d make and feeding them to Braydon while he tries to catch his breath.

Braydon whines, arching his back to meet Slater’s hips, eager.

He redoubles his effort, twisting fingers in Braydon’s curls until he feels him go tighter around him, shaking through his orgasm with a ragged sigh. Perfect. So, so perfect.

 

They settle under the sheets, legs twined as they come back to earth. Braydon kisses him softly, like he can barely muster the energy to press their lips together. It’s one of Slater’s favorite kinds of moments.

He wishes he didn’t have to leave.

“Stay,” Braydon whines when Slater makes a move to get out of bed. “Stay forever.”

“I’ve got class.”

Braydon clings. “Stay and take a shower here and borrow my clothes. Sleep with me.”

“And what am I supposed to do about a toothbrush?” he protests.

“Maybe I have an extra one in the drawer with your name on it. It can be your permanent toothbrush that matches your permanent space in the closet and the permanent side of the bed.”

Slater’s heart flutters the way it always does when Braydon is thoughtful or forward thinking. He’s the only guy Slater’s ever dated that wanted him around like this. Wanted him to stay, to…to move in. “Next time.”

Braydon huffs. “You said that last time.”

“I know,” he says, slipping back into his pants and t-shirt. “I’m sorry. I just…I can’t stay.”

“Hey, wait.” Braydon sits up in bed, sheet pooling around his hips and showing off every glorious ridge of his stomach. “Am I doing something wrong?”

Son of a bitch, he does not want to talk about this now. “No! You’re…you’re perfect. Everything’s good.”

Braydon frowns. “I’ve asked you ten different ways to think about moving in with me and each time you find more ways to deflect the question.”

“I’m not deflecting I just…I can’t do this right now. I’ve got to get back to the house.”

“Your friends can survive more than twenty-four hours without you.”

Slater knows Braydon doesn’t mean for it to sound patronizing or mean but that’s how it lands.

“I just want more than fleeting moments with you,” Braydon continues. “I want to wake up slowly with you instead of constantly rushing out the door. I want to savor you. Come home to you. I want to cook you dinner and not have to drive an hour in traffic to pick you up for a date.”

Slater feels sick, turns away and squeezes his eyes shut against the wave of nausea. He wants that too. He wants to be the guy who has that. “Those guys in that house depend on me. I know you think they’re trash but they’re my family. We don’t bail on each other.”

“Like Bray’s bailing on you for a cushy palace?”

“I’m leaving now,” he spits, seeing red. “Before either of us says anything else we’ll regret.”

“Slater, I’m s--.”

He shuts the front door of Braydon’s apartment firmly, fishing his keys out of his pocket so he can lock it behind him. He’d had to park further away than usual and it gives him more time to calm down as he breathes in the dewy air.

Brayden is not leaving them for a cushy palace. He’s just getting a new title and a bunch of fancy shit. They’re still going to be a family even when he’s officially royal.

Fuck, that sounds lame.

His phone buzzes when he gets to his car, but he tosses it face-down on the passenger seat instead of looking at it.

He knows Braydon means well, that they’ve been dating long enough for it to make sense. Moving in together. That’s what people do at some point, right? They start a life together.

And if Slater had to pick someone to make a life with, he’d pick Braydon in a heartbeat.

He still gets butterflies in his stomach when he sees him sometimes. It’s gross and romantic and exactly what he dreamed of a relationship being. Braydon practically walked right out of a romcom, all muscles and good hair and freckles. He saves lives! He’s helped birth children!

Slater stops and a red light and hates himself.

 

It’s still mostly dark when he gets back to the house. There’s a light on in the kitchen and a silhouette that’s shaped like Jake. Slater lets himself in, yawning.

“You’re home early,” Jake says, two mugs of coffee in his hands.

“Braydon asked me to move in with him again.”

“Oh, uh, sorry about that.”

“Yeah, I’m just gonna go lay down and not think about it,” Slater says, heading toward the hallway.

Which is when the bathroom door opens and the last person on planet earth Slater ever expected to see in his house steps out.

“What the _fuck_ is he doing here?!”

 

17

 

Brayden’s phone has been blowing up for a solid week and each new message he gets from Jake or Slater makes him want to cancel his return flight a little bit more.

“Is it something I can help with?” Adam asks as they’re packing up their suitcases.

He considers saying yes and having Adam and the rest of his royal entourage throw Yanni in the trunk of a car or like, rough him up a little. “No, it’s just…the house is a little tense at the moment.”

“And when you say ‘tense’, you mean?”

Brayden sighs. “There’s an unwelcome guest.”

“We can have them removed before you return.”

“That’s…it’s not my place to make that call.” He balls up his dirty shirts and stuffs them down the side of his duffel. “Slater’s already punched him, which was well within the limits of what he deserved, and Jake’s very pro-him staying as long as he wants.”

“What about Tyler? He seems level-headed.”

Brayden drops down to look for anything he’s missed under the bed. “He doesn’t know the story. Or at least not very much of the story. So he’s neutral, as long as the guy isn’t doing anything actively illegal.”

Adam zips up his bag. “That might be something we need to talk about,” he says. “Once you formally give your notice to Valtteri.”

“Talk about what?” Brayden asks, popping his head up over the bed.

“The illegal dealings of the people you consider your closest friends. They’ve all got marks on their records.”

Brayden huffs. “So do I.”

“Yes. However, none of your marks are violent. Or felonies.”

“They’re not bad people.”

Adam checks the safety on his gun before holstering it. “I know you care about them, but they’re not the sort of people the royal family should be associated with.”

Brayden swallows down the bitter taste in his mouth and keeps packing.

 

The flight back to Tampa is smooth and there’s an undercover royal car waiting for them outside the terminal. Brayden startles when he finds Valtteri already in the backseat, looking beautifully ethereal as always.

“Welcome home,” he says, typing something out on his phone. “Was it a good trip?”

Brayden settles, buckles his seatbelt. “Yeah. It was really nice to see my parents. And my brother.”

“How did they take the news?”

“They came around to it,” he says as the car pulls out into traffic. He bites at his thumbnail and bounces a knee, rolling his next words over in his mind a hundred different ways. “I’d like to formally accept.”

“You would?”

“Um, yes. I would. Whatever paperwork there is o-or pomp and circumstance, I’d like to do it.”     

Valtteri’s smile is positively glowing. “I’ll alert the princess as soon as we return to the manor. She’ll be delighted.”

Brayden is concerned that agreeing to all this isn’t the right move. He’s still grappling with the feeling that he’s going to wake up one day, a few months down the line, hateful about his choice. He’s already got two families…

Why not throw in a third?

“Speaking of the manor, uh, I need to swing by the house for a little while. There’s some business that needs to be settled.”

“Well that sounds ominous,” Valtteri says.

“It might actually be best if you just drop me off and leave,” Brayden presses. “It’s probably going to take a while.”

“Adam? Are you available to accompany Brayden to his house, or do I need to call Tony?”

“I’ve been made aware of the situation, sir,” Adam says from the passenger seat. “It should be no problem.”

“Perfect." He turns back to Brayden. "You’ll need to come in sometime before the end of the week to sign your official coronation document and some other paperwork, what times are you free?”

Brayden gives Valtteri some side-eye. “I’m free all the time,” he says. “You made me quit my job, I don’t have school. When I’m not with you, I basically just lay around the house like a bum.”

“Wonderful. That will make scheduling your fittings and practices a breeze.”

“Fittings? For _what_?” Surely not more suits.

“We might be modern royalty but there are still some things rooted in tradition and coronation garb is one of them. I’ll email you a schedule when I’ve finalized it with the fashion designer and the event planner.”

“Yeah, sure. Just email it to me,” Brayden mocks under his breath.

“You’re sitting far too close to me to get away with that, Mr. Hudson.”

His snappish tone makes Brayden sit up a little straighter, a chip settling on his shoulder. "I have a condition. Before you get carried away with all that," he says. "My friends are going to stay my friends."

"Your friends are a risk."

"I'm not doing it if you want me to drop my friends. They're more of a family than you all have ever been. I'm keeping them."

Valtteri nods curtly. "I'll keep that in mind."

 

They’re quiet until the car arrives at the house and Brayden’s truly impressed that the whole thing isn’t on fire or already burnt to the ground.

Adam follows him up the walk like a shadow. “You might want to stay outside for this,” Brayden warns.

Tyler’s on the couch, bouncing through channels too quick to know what’s on the screen. He lifts his free hand up for a high five. “Welcome to the Cold War of 2017.”

“That bad, eh?”

“Jesus, you spend two weeks in Canada and you’re back to saying _eh_?”

“Shut up. Is everybody here? We need to have a meeting.”

“Yeah, they’re all locked away in their rooms. I think Slater’s having a real hard time with it.”

Brayden drops his bag off in his room before knocking on the last door on the left. “Slater? Can I come in?”

Slater cracks the door open the slightest amount.

“It’s just me.”

Slater tugs him into his room and locks the door behind them both. “I’m so glad you’re back. You need to talk some sense into him. He’ll listen to you.”

“No, he’ll listen to _you._ ” He jabs a finger at Slater’s chest for emphasis.

“I can’t.”

“Have you literally not talked to him in over a week?” Brayden’s appalled. “He’s your best friend!”

“I can’t even look at him,” he says, tugging on the ends of his hair in frustration. The curls are all stretched out and frizzy, a product of combing his fingers through it when he gets upset.

“Well you need to figure it out because this can’t be a thing that drags on or ruins friendships. I’m becoming a prince in less than two months and I need everyone to get their fucking shit together!”

Slater’s face breaks through the cloud of anger. “You decided? You’re gonna do it?!”

“I told Valtteri on the way here, he’s…getting everything together but that’s not the point!” Brayden flaps his hands. “The point is you can’t give the royal guard any more reasons to think you’re a problem for me to be associated with and you’re already on thin ice.”

“I’m not the problem,” Slater hisses.

Brayden hangs his head. “How much longer is he staying?”

“Jake claims it’s just for the holidays.”

“No” Brayden snaps. “Does he think he’s some kind of _gift_? No. He needs to be gone before Christmas.”

“That’s what I’m saying!” Slater shout-whispers, throwing his hands in the air. “I can’t believe Jake let him in here.”

“We all have someone we’d do anything for. It’s not Jake’s fault that Yanni is that person.”

Slater seems to cave to that. “If Braydon ever leaves me high and dry to take the fall for a crime that gets me five years in a high-security prison, punch me in the face if I try to let him back into my life.”

“Okay,” Brayden says. "Let’s go talk some sense into Jake and get the lump of coal out of our house.”

He lets himself out of Slater’s room and sends a silent blessing to Canada for not having Thanksgiving as late as the Americans do. There’s not a turkey big enough to cover the bloodbath that Thursday would be if any of them gave a shit.

True patriot love.

 

18

 

“Hey, uh, Jake?” Slater’s voice asks from the other side of the door, much more civil than the last time they spoke.

It was mostly yelling, to be honest.  

Jake shifts out from under Yanni’s weight, settling his arm back on the bed gently in hopes of not waking him. He cracks the door the bare minimum. “What.”

“Can we talk?”

“Are you still going to be a bitch to me?”

Slater rolls his eyes. “No, I will not be a bitch to you. Just come out here.”

Jake looks back at Yanni who’s curled around a pillow and looking smaller than he ever remembers him being. “Okay.”

He follows Slater to the living room where Tyler’s sitting, scrolling through his phone, and Bray’s pacing behind the couch.

“Are you intervention-ing me right now?”

“Something like that,” Slater says. “Will you sit and listen to us?”

Jake drops into the chair. “Don’t really have a choice, do I?”

“Look, I’m going to try really hard not to yell,” Slater says, yelling. “But you’ve made a stupid decision and it needs to be fixed.”

“What was I supposed to do?” Jake asks, yelling back. “I never expected to see him again, _never_! What would you do in the face of someone you loved and thought you lost! What would you have done if Braydon showed up six years later and still looked at you the same way he did when you were together? What would you have done?”

“Braydon would never let me take the fall for something I didn’t do! That’s the difference!”

“Whoa, whoa, whoa,” Tyler says, standing up between them. “I thought we weren’t yelling.”

Slater runs his fingers through his hair.

“I don’t know the story,” Tyler continues. “But the guy sounds like trash. You don’t need to lower yourself to him.”

Jake laughs, an ugly, totally unfunny laugh. “Sit down. All of you, sit the fuck down.”

They do – Tyler, then Bray, then finally Slater.

“You guys are my best friends. And I love you like brothers, but we’ve all done things we shouldn’t have done. Relationships and family drama and run-ins with the cops. We have all fucked up – individually and together – more than enough times.”

“He ruined your life!” Brayden shouts, beating Slater to the punch.

“Six years ago! I’m allowed to forgive him!”

Slater puts his foot down, physically and metaphorically. “Look, that’s fine but he’s not even supposed to be in the country. You’re harboring an international fugitive! Brayden is gonna be in the royal spotlight in a few months and we can’t be the ugly footnote next to his name! He deserves more than that from us.”

“No one’s going to find out!” Jake argues. “It’s not like I’m going to walk around with him in front of the news station or get our picture plastered on the front of a magazine. He just needs a place to stay for a little while. That’s all. He’s not gonna ruin anybody’s life.”

“Can I get that in writing?” Slater asks.

“What if I punch you in the face instead, and we call it a day.” Jake gets up and heads back to his room, not waiting for any kind of answer.

Yanni’s sitting up in bed, looking soft with his hair all messy from sleep.

“How much of that did you hear?” he asks, sitting on the edge of the mattress.

“You forgive me?”

Jake sighs. “If I’m being honest, I probably forgave you a while ago. There was a day I just woke up and didn’t think there was any use carrying around the anger all the time anymore. So I stopped.”

Yanni rearranges the covers so he can curl around Jake’s side. “I never meant to hurt you.”

“I think I know that now.” Jake shrugs and feels Yanni’s arm wrap around his hips. “Cause you’re good at what you do. And the only way you get good at it is by looking out for yourself first. It felt shitty at the time because I loved you and I wanted you to love me just as much, but I get it.”

“I did love you,” Yanni whispers. “And I still do. Just as desperately as I did back then.”

Jake’s heart swells and he goes warm at Yanni’s words, something like relief settling in his chest. “You do?”

Yanni reaches up to tilt Jake’s chin down, kissing him with certainty.

 

The first of December arrives hot and sticky, just like the rest of the fall has been. Jake has a part-time job at a tree lot waiting for him and he spends his weekend unloading Fraser firs from a truck and setting them up in the corner of a parking lot.

He keeps an eye on little ones that arrive or the ones with broken branches. Most of them get cut down for wreaths but he spots the one he wants on Saturday – barely coming up to his hip and skinny, branches thinning toward the top. It’s definitely the Dud. 

He straps it to the top of the car at the end of his shift and brings it home.

“It’s perfect,” Tyler says, helping him get it into the stand. “I think it’s bigger than last year’s.”

“Oh definitely,” Slater agrees, arms full with boxes of ornaments from the attic. “They let you just take it?”

Jake nods. “The branches are kind of weak, so they didn’t think it’d make good wreaths.”

“Bray said to start the lights without him,” Tyler announces, checking his phone. “He’s gonna be a little later than he thought.”

“We’ll put his ornaments aside,” Slater says, beginning the unboxing process.

Brayden’s been away from the house for longer and longer stretches of time. He’d spent the night in the palace guesthouse last week, claiming he had to do something early the next morning so it ‘made sense’.

When Tyler wiggles behind the tree to help wrap the lights instead of Brayden, Jake gets a little sad. “He should be here.”

“He’ll be here,” Slater says, twining the lights around a few of the lower branches before passing the bundle to Tyler. “He wouldn’t miss it.”

Turning to grab a couple ornaments, Jake spots Yanni slipping from his room to the bathroom down the hall.

He should be out here with them, drinking shitty dollar store eggnog and listening to Christmas songs. Jake opens his mouth to invite him over, everyone else be damned, but is cut off by Slater.

“You should join us.”

Yanni freezes – as does Tyler, the tree topper held awkwardly in the air – and flicks his eyes to Jake. “I don’t want to intrude.”

Slater holds up one of the ornaments he’s pulled from the box. “You remember this?”

It’s a clear glass bulb with fake snow inside, blue letters spelling _‘tis the season_ and an orange block S below that.

Yanni smiles softly. “I lifted that. Back when we lived in Syracuse.”

“You should hang it up,” Slater says.

Yanni steps forward, taking the ornament from his fingers. They all watch as he crouches down to pick a branch. The last lingering strings of tension break and Jake takes a deep, satisfying breath.

“Thank you,” Yanni says to Slater.

“You can stay as long as you need to,” he replies.

Yanni manages to look bashful, stepping closer to Jake. Close enough for him to take Yanni’s hand, squeeze it.

“Don’t look all gross about it,” Slater scoffs.

“Aw but it’s a Christmas miracle!” Jake crows, chasing Slater across the living room until he gives in to a tight hug, laughing as Jake lifts him off the ground.

Headlights flashing through the front window announce Brayden’s arrival.

“Oh geez, what did I miss?” he says, kicking off his shoes by the front door. “Are they fighting or hugging?”

“Mom and dad got back together,” Tyler replies. “And we’ve adopted a new roommate.”

“Sounds like Christmas is saved,” Brayden says, bumping shoulders with Jake, who’s feeling lighter than air for the first time in weeks.

 

19

 

Yanni doesn’t drink any eggnog but he does take the beer Jake gets for him and laughs at Bray’s latest royal mishap. Slater seems sad when he doesn’t think anyone’s looking at him. He checks his phone a few times before giving up on it altogether.

Tyler hopes he and Other-Bray are okay, that maybe it’s just the stress of the end of the semester.

“They want me to go to church with them. On Christmas Eve,” Bray says, clearly horrified.

“Just follow what everyone else is doing,” Tyler offers.

“You don’t think God is going to spite me just for setting foot inside?”

Yanni scoffs. “If he hasn’t struck me down yet, I am positive you will be okay.”

“You go to church?” Jake asks.

“When I can.” Yanni picks at the label of his bottle. “I went much more often when I was home in Quebec.”

“We can find somewhere to go, on Christmas eve,” Jake offers. “If you want.”

Yanni shakes his head. “We will have other things to be doing that night. But thank you.”

Tyler doesn’t know what that means but everyone else just lets it go, so he does the same.

 

Tyler loves the mall at Christmas time. There’s just something about the decorations and the music and little kids in fancy clothes lined up to see Santa. He's pretty sure his mom still has a picture of him with a mall Santa that she brings out every year.

He takes his time walking through, looking at each store window and people-watching, getting himself a pretzel. He circles around to get Slater’s gift – a tiny bottle of the cologne he likes but never wears because he doesn’t want to use it all up. He got Jake’s present from the sports store the other day and Bray’s getting the most expensive Gucci keychain in the world, since he’s a prince now.

Tyler isn’t sure if he should get Yanni something. He doesn’t really know the guy. Might be weird.

He’s stops at Publix on his way home for some fancy bread to go with the soup Bray threw together a couple nights ago. It’s surprisingly busy and he has to wait in line to checkout, giving him time to browse the gossip magazine covers.

His heart stops when he sees Ondrej’s face next to the block letter headline – SLUMMING IT.

Tyler recognizes the backdrop of the photo as the Den and his stomach churns. His face is blurry in the shadows behind Ondrej, but their hands are clearly linked.

Slumming it.

Oh fuck, he’s an idiot.

He grabs the magazine and puts it face-down on the conveyor with his bread. He doesn’t know why, he should just leave it on the stand. Forget about it. Pretend he never saw it.

But he can’t think about anything else, terrified of what’s written about him and Ondrej on page 9. He has to know.

 

He reads it on the bus, which is a mistake.

_The heir to the Palat philanthropy empire, Ondrej, was spotted late Friday night leaving a Tampa dive bar called The Den – a vast departure from his usual swanky nightclub spots. He left hand-in-hand with a local man and the pair looked cozy as Palat helped the handsome brunette – who a source says is a bartender at The Den - put on his helmet before zipping away toward downtown on Palat’s MV Agusta. Could the long-time bachelor have found a diamond in the rough? We look forward to finding out!_

The picture above the blurb shows Tyler sitting on Ondrej’s bike, back to the camera. He can’t help but wonder if Ondrej’s seen it, what he thinks.

It isn’t like they’ve tried to be quiet about it or sneak around. Ondrej hasn’t seemed to want to hide him away in the shitty part of town. But being called out for downgrading probably doesn’t look good next to his pristine reputation.

He tries to remember the night the picture was taken. It was a Friday and Ondrej was in a pair of ripped up black jeans that hugged his hips like a glove and he had taken Tyler home after that. Let Tyler peel him out of them.

Tyler never saw the photographer.

Why would there even be a paparazzi in that part of town, at that hour? Did they follow Ondrej and then sit outside and wait for him until he came out? Fuck, that’s ridiculous. That’s ridiculous and unnecessary. And…and totally not worth it.

Ondrej is kind and thoughtful and smart. He tips well and holds doors open for Tyler and little old ladies. He works at the soup kitchen on Thanksgiving and donates his time and money to hospitals during the holidays. He’s likely an actual saint and Tyler is an asshole.

An asshole bartender with nothing but late nights and living paycheck-to-paycheck to look forward to for the rest of his life.

Oh god, he’s an _idiot_.

Tyler rings the bell for the bus to stop and gets off with all of his bags and the magazine. He orders an Uber, which is going to be so fucking expensive but he needs to get there fast. Before he loses his nerve.

 

Ondrej’s house is gated, with neatly trimmed shrubs leading the way up to the statuesque two-story fronted by grand pillars and white lights strung up in every window for Christmas.

Tyler buzzes the intercom and hopes Ondrej’s home.

“Can I help you?” a crackly voice that is not Ondrej’s asks.

“Um, my name is Tyler Johnson, I’m here to see Ondrej.”

“Of course, Mr. Johnson, come in.”

A buzzer sounds and the gates open, letting the Uber drive to the front to drop Tyler off. Ondrej opens the grand door with the giant wreath on it before Tyler even gets up the steps.

“This is a nice surprise,” he says, smiling wide.

Tyler truly wishes it was. “Hi.”

Ondrej gathers him into a kiss, soft and welcoming, and Tyler’s almost glad he realized this early enough, before any real feelings could grow and take hold. “I’m, uh, I won’t be here long. I just needed to see you. To, uh.” He clears his throat. “To talk to you.”

“Okay.”

Tyler can’t read Ondrej’s tone of voice as he leads the way to the sitting room.

“You sound like something’s wrong.”

He can’t disagree. “I’ve realized something, is all. And I want to say everything I need to say before you try and argue with me, okay?”

Ondrej licks his lips. “Okay.”

“We’ve been doing this for almost three months,” he starts. “This going on dates and kissing and waking up in bed together…”

“Dating,” Ondrej says. “We’ve been dating for three months.”

The word makes Tyler’s mouth go a little dry. “Dating.”

“Mhmm.”

“We’ve been dating and it’s been…” He tries to think of a single word that would describe how absolutely amazing it’s been. “Perfect.” Fuck, what is wrong with him. “And it’s one of those things that’s like, well shit, when is the other shoe going to drop, y’know?”

Ondrej looks like he does not know.

“What I’m trying to say is that we both know this is just something fun, right? You came to the bar for an experience and I gladly gave you one. But, c’mon, I know you have better things to be doing. Better people to be taking on dates to expensive restaurants on your motorcycle. And the holidays are coming up and that’s like, a lot of pressure for people so I’m just going to cut if off. Right here. Before we get down the road so far someone gets hurt.” Tyler thinks something in his chest is already cracking open, raw and painful. “I wanted to say it’s been great. You’re _great_ , but I’m just a bartender at a shitty bar with nothing to offer you and Ondrej, you deserve someone so much better than me.”

“Tyler…”

“I’m not some diamond in the rough,” he says, voice getting watery. “I’m just a shitty clump of dirt that’ll never shine. So I’m doing you the favor of letting me down easy. Merry Christmas, Ondrej.”

“Tyler, please…”

But Tyler’s already gathering up his things in haste and rushing for the door.

“Wait!”

He slips outside and down the steps before breaking into a full run toward the gate and the early evening darkness, tears clinging to his cheeks as he goes.   

 

20

 

Slater picks up a shift on Christmas Eve, not wanting to sit at home alone and figuring Connor would like the night off. He was supposed to stay with Braydon tonight, exchange gifts, have a nice dinner, and fall asleep in front of a fire that’s too hot for Florida but Braydon got called in.

Like he always does when they’re having a fight.

They’ve seen each other a few times since Slater was an ass, but it’s been terse and tense. It’s what Slater deserves, probably, but he doesn’t know how to make it better. He doesn’t know how to make Braydon understand that he can love him and not want to live with him. Not yet, at least.

He makes a round to refill coffee cups and take the guy in the corner his Saulsberry steak. It’s not time for a break, but he pulls his book out of his backpack anyway. He’s almost finished it by now – the lost prince has battled his dragons and returned home to his family and his unknowing love interest. It’s a predictable ending but so very satisfying when the prince gets to kiss his soon-to-be princess for the first time.

He wishes real life was as easy as fiction.

The door opens and Slater marks his page on his way to greet the new gues---. “I thought you were working tonight?” he asks Tyler, who looks just as weary as he feels.

“Closed early. Figured you could use some company.”

Slater sits him at his usual booth and brings a coffee and an extra bowl of creamers. “Has he texted?”

Tyler fiddles with his phone, flipping it end over end. “No.”

“I’m sorry.”

Tyler shrugs and doctors up his coffee. “It was good, but he would’ve gotten tired of me eventually. My below-average looks and empty bank account can only be entertaining for so long.”

“Shut up, quit being so fucking self-deprecating. You’re a good dude and Ondrej liked you. You don’t have to have the same amount of money or upbringing to be good for each other.”

“We weren’t good for each other.”

Slater wants to knock the creamer out of his hand. He wants to jump on the table and scream at him, shake him until he understands that he threw away something amazing because he was _scared_.

“You and Other-Bray are good,” Tyler says. “There’s a difference.”

“Ugh, don’t…” he whines, sitting in the booth across from Tyler. “We’re not…I’m fucking it up.”

“Cause you won’t move in with him?”

Slater’s chest tightens. “It just doesn’t feel right. Not with Bray leaving and Yanni showing up. It doesn’t feel right.”

“We can find new roommates, y’know.”

“Too much change at once.” Fuck, Slater feels sick just thinking about it. “We’re not looking for new roommates.”

“I’m not picking up Bray’s part of the rent.”

“Did he tell you he’s moving out?”

Tyler shrugs. “His public coming out is in a week, you think they’re gonna let him go through all that and then come home to us? Not a chance.”

“A _week_?”

“Yeah, dude. Did you not read the invitation? It’s New Year’s Day.”

“Of course I read the…I just didn’t realize it was so soon! I feel like it was November like, a week ago!”

“I’m pretty sure the years keep getting shorter,” Tyler agrees.

Slater feels a headache coming on and rubs his temples. “I’ve gotta check on people, I’ll be back.”

The guy with the Saulsberry steak is finished and the young couple in the corner table ask for soda refills. He brings them a glass of milk for their baby, on the house. It’s nearly Christmas after all.

His phone vibrates in the pouch of his apron as he tops off Tyler’s coffee and again when he puts the pot back on the warmer.

His blood runs cold when he reads the messages.

“Tyler, we gotta go!” he shouts, undoing the tie of his apron and tossing it toward one of the cooks. “Kuby, I need you to cover for me. It’s an emergency. I’ll make it up to you.”

He doesn’t wait for Kuby to respond, just grabs his backpack and Tyler and heads for the car.

“What the fuc--.”

“It’s Jake,” Slater says. “Braydon said he just came into the ER.”

 

21

 

Brayden barely waits for the car to come to a complete stop in front of the hospital before he’s opening the door and rushing inside. The atrium is full of people that he dodges around until he spots Slater pacing along a row of chairs; Tyler’s sitting with his head in his hands.

“Is he okay?” he asks, heart jackhammering in his chest. “What’s happened? Slater, is he okay?”

“He’s in surgery,” Slater says, a quiver in his voice. “They don’t have any updates.”

“Fuck, who brought him in?”

“I did,” Yanni says, arriving with a cup of coffee in his hands. “It’s…it’s m-my fault.”

Brayden balls his hand into a fist before his brain can tell him it’s not a good idea to throw a punch in the middle of a hospital waiting room. Slater’s there quickly, stepping between him and Yanni. Valtteri shows up as well, pulling him further away from the mess he made.

“Mr. Hudson!” he says, firm and angry and very well dressed in a full suit and tie. “You are in public!”

“That asshole could’ve gotten Jake _killed_ ,” he hisses.

“I’ve dealt with it,” Slater says, dropping his voice. “They were making a…a business deal and got double-crossed. Jake saved Yanni’s life. It was his choice.”

Brayden doesn’t know why he’s crying but he wipes the tears away as quickly as they fall. “Why is he such a fucking idiot?”

“I can’t wait to ask him exactly that when he gets out of surgery.”

Brayden takes the seat next to Tyler and Slater goes back to pacing. Yanni sips his coffee and rubs at his eyes every so often, red-rimmed and puffy.

“You should sit, too,” he says to Valtteri. “We’re going to be here a while.”

 

Tyler and Yanni both fall asleep in uncomfortable positions no more than an hour and a half after Brayden gets there and Valtteri continues to fight the pull of exhaustion, nodding his head and catching himself awake more than once.

He’d loosened his tie around hour two and taken off his suit jacket a few minutes later. He rolled up his sleeves about seventeen minutes after that and Brayden has been distracted by the skin of his forearms ever since.

Slater has widened his pacing circumference, walking along the windows and the perimeter of the atrium before circling back to where they’re all settled. Waiting.

Yanni startles awake at nothing, checks his watch. It hasn’t been long enough to worry, Brayden thinks. Slater doesn’t seem any more worried than he was, and he would know if it was time to worry.

Tyler wakes up at hour three and stretches out his legs and neck, finding the bathroom and returning with muffins for everyone. Valtteri goes to get a double espresso.

They are there in the waiting room for exactly three hours and twenty-two minutes.

“He’s out of surgery,” the doctor says. “You can see him now.”

 

22

 

Jake wakes up slowly, fighting through the fog that’s wrapping him tightly in sleep. He’s hurt, at least he thinks he is. It’s the last thing he remembers, a sharp burning pain in his shoulder and the chill of the cement floor of the warehouse.

He remembers Yanni. And the gun.

He’s in a hospital when he opens his eyes, all crisp white and smelling of chemicals and recycled air. He picks up on the rhythmic beeping of a machine, probably the beat of his own heart. It’s steady.

The pain shows up next, something dull and pounding. His shoulder is wrapped, immobile, and he blinks an array of tubes and wires into focus, all sprouting from his own arm. He’s cold except for his right hand, which is held tightly in another hand.

Yanni’s hand.

 _Oh thank god_ , he thinks, mouth too dry and unused to say anything aloud. Yanni’s there, folded over with his head pillowed on the hospital mattress and his hand wrapped around Jake’s. He’s okay. He’s…he’s alive. Breathing.

Everything’s okay. Everyone is safe.

Yanni.

And Slater curled up in a chair, asleep.

And Tyler on the phone in the hallway.

And Brayden on a bench, head pillowed on Valtteri’s shoulder.

Safe.

Safe.

Safe.

Safe.

“You’re awake,” Yanni says, soft and disbelieving. “Jacob.”

“Hi,” he croaks.

“Hi,” he says back, standing up to press a kiss to Jake’s forehead. “We have all been so worried about you.”

“’m fine.” He tries to sit up more but Yanni puts a firm hand on his good shoulder, holding him still.

“Yeah, you…you had surgery. They had to get the bullet out and repair some things. I don’t remember all the specifics but, um, you saved my life. I don’t know how to thank you for that.”

“I love you.”

Yanni’s face softens, his fingers curling tighter around Jake’s hand. “I love you, too.”

They waited way too fucking long to say that to each other, Jake thinks. Way too long. Unimaginably long. “Don’t leave me again,” he says, voice stronger now. “Please don’t ever leave me again.”

“Never,” Yanni agrees, pressing a kiss to the corner of Jake’s mouth. “Never.”

Slater stirs in the chair behind Yanni, trying to resituate himself, and Yanni reaches back to shake him awake fully. “He’s up.”

“Jake?” Slater’s on his feet in an instant, rushing to the other side of the bed. “Fuck, you scared me.” He turns and taps on the glass of the window, waving the others inside. “Don’t ever do that again.”

Jake tries to laugh but it just sounds like a cough. A tired wheeze. He could slip back into sleep so easily but he keeps his eyes open to see Bray smile and Tyler make some terrible joke that everyone laughs at. He keeps his eyes open to see the worry lines fade from Slater’s forehead and the tension in Bray’s shoulders disappear, to see Other-Bray come in and check his vitals and declare him “doing well.”

He closes his eyes somewhere between Brayden taking coffee orders and familiar fingers brushing through his hair. Someone shows up with an accent that sounds like Valtteri’s and then it’s quiet.

 

23

 

“W-what are you doing here?” Tyler asks, stepping out of Jake’s room and into the hall.

Ondrej’s smile is devastatingly sad. “Your friend Brayden texted me,” he explains. “He’s apparently a friend of the family now. I couldn’t say no.”

Tyler never expected to see Ondrej again and especially on a day that has already been so emotionally draining. “It’s Christmas,” he says, as if that’s the most logical reason why this is ridiculous.

“I’ve missed you.”

Tyler knows he staring, that they’re both just standing in the middle of a hospital hallway staring at each other, but he can’t stop. He can’t stop searching for something in Ondrej’s eyes that tells him it’s all a dream or some kind of cosmic joke. He can’t stop himself from thinking about closing the distance between them and never letting go.

“I’ve missed you since the night you ran out of my house.”

“Ondrej…”

“I don’t want a diamond. I have plenty of those and they don’t interest me,” Ondrej says. “I want a partner who can make me laugh. One that can change my whole day with a smile. I want someone to take me places I’ve never seen, someone who makes me take off the Versace jacket and tie. Who can see me beyond the grandeur of my father’s money and still want to wake up next to me. I want…a lot of things and you gave me every single one.”

There’s a knot of something caught in Tyler’s throat, something that’s making it hard to breathe, to think. “I don’t know what to say.”

Ondrej pulls a small box out of his pocket with a silver bow and hands it over. “You don’t have to say anything. Just…Merry Christmas, Tyler.”

Tyler watches Ondrej turn and head back down the hallway toward the elevators, disappearing once he turns a corner. The box feels light in his hand.

“You gonna open it?” Brayden’s leaning against the doorframe of Jake’s room, looking smug.

He has no idea what to expect when he tugs the silver bow loose and removes the top with a shaky hand. He cradles the shiny brown ball in his palm, lifting it from the tissue paper. There's a note underneath, written in Ondrej’s neat, boxy handwriting.

_You were wrong when you said a clump of dirt can’t shine._

Tyler’s running before he let’s himself overthink it, the ball of dirt balanced in his palm as he dodges the other people in the hall. He takes the corner and watches the elevator doors close with Ondrej inside, their eyes just barely meeting before he’s gone.

“Fuck, no…” Tyler presses the down button more times than is strictly necessary, begging the other elevator to move faster, until it dings and…and. “Ondrej.”

He throws himself into a hug, wrapping his arms around Ondrej’s neck as he steps out of the elevator, shiny ball of dirt still balanced in his palm. He thinks he’s probably going to cry in a second but Ondrej’s just going to have to get over his tears dripping onto whatever brand name jacket he’s wearing today.

“I’m so sorry,” he whispers into Ondrej’s neck. “I’m sorry for being stupid.”

“I’m sorry for making you think you aren’t everything I’ve ever wanted.”

Tyler lifts his chin, meeting Ondrej’s eyes and knowing it’s all real, knowing he’s never been looked at like this by anyone else.

Kissing him feels a little bit like coming home, if Tyler was the kind of person who thought things like that.

“It was Armani,” he says against Ondrej’s smile. “By the way.”

“What?”

“The jacket I made you take off the night we met, it was Armani. Not Versace.”

“Forgive me and my terrible memory for details.”

Tyler beams, leaning up for another kiss. “Just this once.”

 

24

 

“Can I sit?” Braydon asks, indicating the space next to Slater on the hall bench.

“Yeah.”

Braydon leaves a purposeful space between them when he settles and Slater hates it. He’s hated every moment of the last four weeks.

The silence stretches out between them until it snaps and Slater opens his mouth to apologize at the same time Braydon does, which just seems typical.

“Me too,” he agrees, looking down at his feet. “I’m so sorry.”

He feels Braydon exhale before stretching out his hand to cover Slater’s on the bench. “I miss you. And I know I’m selfish about you,” Braydon says. “I want to have you around me all the time but it’s okay if you’re not ready. I love you and a few more months, another year, that’s not going to change.”

“It’s not okay.” He leans his head against Braydon’s shoulder and breathes him in. “I don’t know what’s wrong with me.”

“Nothing’s wrong with you.”

Hearing Braydon say it makes Slater feel a little better. Feeling the scratch of Braydon’s beard against his cheek as he plants a kiss there eases the sadness in his chest, too. “Maybe,” he starts. “After Jake gets out of here we can start small.”

Compromise should probably be Slater’s new year’s resolution.

“Hm?”

Slater traces the lines on Braydon’s hand. “I think I remember you saying there was a toothbrush with my name on it? I can do a toothbrush. And like, a change of clothes. A pair of shoes or something.”

“You sure? There’s no pressure,” Braydon says. “I don’t want to pressure you.”

“I want more time with you, too. Time that’s unhurried and….and just for us.” He looks up at Braydon then, really looks at him. “I’m terrified of change, but I think if you’re there changing with me, it won’t be so bad.”

Braydon’s pager beeps, breaking the moment. “You’re amazing,” he says after checking it. “And we’re not done talking about this, okay? We’ve gotta talk about it so it doesn’t get bad again.”

“Yeah, okay.”

Braydon holds his jaw when he kisses him, steals a little of his breath. “Are you staying here again tonight?”

“I-I don’t know. I’ve gotta work tomorrow so I should probably get some sleep but...”

“Find me before you leave, okay?”

“Yeah,” he says, smiling and feeling lighter than air. “Oh! Uh, you still have New Year’s Day off, right?”

Braydon’s pager beeps again. “Yeah, yes. I’m not on call or anything.”

“Okay good, cause I was really hoping to have a hot date to Brayden’s coronation.”

“Wouldn’t miss it. I gotta go, babe. I’m sorry.”

Slater shoos him away. “Go on, go! Save some lives!”

“Looks like it's all gonna turn out okay after all,” Tyler says, looking pleased with his arm around a very well-dressed blonde. Ondrej, Slater presumes.

Slater looks past them to where Yanni is helping Jake sit up and swing his legs over the side of the bed. The usual anger is still there but it’s barely a simmer, fading with each new day. “Seems like we’ll all make it to 2018 in one piece.”

He and Tyler both knock on the nearest hard surface, just to be safe.


End file.
